- 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


LOYERS  AND  THINKERS. 


Nobel, 


HEWES    GORDON. 


"And  hail  once  more  to  the  banner  of  battle  unrolled! 
Though  many  a  light  shall  darken,  and  many  shall  weep 
For  those  that  are  crushed  in  the  clash  of  jarring  claims, 
Yet  God's  just  wrath  shall  be  wreaked  on  a  giant  liar ; 
And  many  a  darkness  into  the  light  shall  leap, 
And  shine  on  the  sudden  making  of  splendid  names, 
And  noble  thought  be  freer  under  the  sun, 
And  the  heart  of  a  people  beat  with  one  desire." 

TENNYSON'S  MADD. 


NEW    YORK: 

CARLETON,  PUBLISHER,  413  BROADWAY. 
MDCCCLXV. 


Entered,  according  'to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865, 

BY    GEO.    W.    CARLETON, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


E.   CRAIGHEAD,    PRINTER, 

Caxton  Building  S3   Centre  street. 


C541JL 


LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

NEW  YORK,  our  Commercial  Metropolis.  That 
is,  the  centre  of  activity,  wealth,  amusement,  — 
of  sloth,  indigence,  misery,  —  the  great  symbol  of  the 
country's  daily  life.  Boston  may  be  its  Athens,  the  seat 
of  intelligence  and  culture ;  this  is  its  Rome,  the  vast 
arena  of  concentrated  effort  and  practical  skilL  The 
aim  of  the  average  American,  but  especially  of  the 
New-Yorker,  is  riches,  material  success.  Pick  out  any 
one,  of  a  morning,  from  its  thousands  rushing  down 
town,  and  ask  him  why  he  thus  tears  along ;  his 
answer,  if  he  shall  stop  long  enough  to  give  it  faith- 
fully, will  be,  "  Money,  money :  what  do  we  live  for  ?  " 
Stella  Maign  was  a  child  of  this  city,  though  not  of 
its  spirit  and  circumstances.  Her  father  was,  perhaps, 
one  of  its  "  representative  men."  He  was  a  merchant, 
doing  an  extensive  and  prosperous  business,  when  she, 
his  only  daughter,  was  born.  He  was  a  man  of  the 
i*  (5) 

1670S93 


6  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

world,  —  still  more,  a  man  of  New  York.  He  was 
active  and  enterprising,  and  believed  in  precisely  the 
qualities  which  he  himself  possessed.  All  others  he 
undervalued.  He  had  accumulated  considerable  prop- 
erty, and  was  called  rich.  Respecting  and  applauding 
business  qualifications,  these,  combined  with  wealth, 
made,  in  his  eyes,  a  man  of  men,  —  one  to  be  sought 
and  honored.  Thinkers,  scholars,  men  of  ideas,  held 
but  a  corner  of  his  esteem.  They  were  well  enough, 
he  thought ;  they  contributed  aliment  to  the  leisure  of 
the  rich ;  they  afforded  him  amusement :  but  they  were 
always  poor  fellows,  of  little  account  in  the  world. 
Here  we  have  his  estimate  of  the  world:  he  meant 
Wall  street,  Broadway,  and  the  fine  houses  up  town, 
of  which  his  own  was  one  of  the  best,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  best. 

Mrs.  Maign,  his  wife,  had  been,  when  young,  a  some- 
what aspiring  and  superior  maiden ;  but,  without  de- 
cided force  of  character,  she  had  settled  down,  soon  after 
her  marriage,  quite  to  the  level  of  the  circle  around  her. 
Now  she  presided  over  her  husband's  mansion  as  he 
thought  a  woman  of  means  and  fashion  should  do. 
Costly  pictures  were  hung  on  its  walls ;  statues  digni- 
fied the  appropriate  niches.  The  parties  given  in  it 
were  among  the  gayest  of  the  season.  And  outside, 
was  the  lady's  carriage,  with  driver  and  footman  in 
waiting,  whenever  she  desired  to  take  the  air.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Maign  scanned  their  establishment  with  proud 
satisfaction.  "  I  have  come  to  think  with  you,  Mr. 
M.,"  she  said,  "  that  it  would  be  quite  impossible  for 
one  who  really  is  anybody r,  to  do  without  the  like." 

This  mutual  thought  very  naturally  entered  into  their 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  7 

I 

plan  of  education  for  their  daughter,  and  into  their  de- 
termination regarding  her  future  career.  At  fourteen 
years  of  age,  after  fitting  studies  near  home,  she  was 
sent  away  to  be  placed  in  the  well-known  seminary  of 
Madam  de  Villier,  at  Ironton.  Here  it  was  supposed 
she  could  receive  as  thorough  and  accomplished  an  edu- 
cation as  any  young  lady  of  wealth  and  superior  pros- 
pects would  require.  Graduated  from  such  an  institu- 
tion, her  father  deemed  she  would  be  fitted  to  adorn 
any  man's  drawing-room  as  well  as  the  good  Mrs. 
Maign  had  herself  done,  and  in  exactly  the  same  way. 

Stella's  conduct,  during  the  three  years  she  was  in 
charge  of  Madam  de  Villier,  was  satisfactory  to  parents 
and  teachers.  She  was  a  keen,  appreciative  scholar,  a 
healthful,  cheerful,  dignified  person,  with  whom  but  lit- 
tle fault  of  any  kind  was  found.  Though  spirited,  and 
occasionally  wilful  if  opposed  when  she  regarded  herself 
in  the  right,  she  seldom  broke  over,  or  evaded,  the  pre- 
scribed limits  of  restraint,  which,  at  a  school  like  Mad- 
ame de  Villier's,  were  necessarily  rather  strict.  She 
was  allowed  to  leave  the  seminary  only  once  a  week,  to 
visit  some  friend  known  to  her  parents,  or  for  shopping, 
unless,  indeed,  when  in  company  with  forty  or  fifty 
others,  she  took  a  morning  or  evening  walk  for  exer- 
cise. The  latter  practice  she  did  not  at  first  wholly 
enjoy.  It  seemed  very  strange  scarcely  ever  to  appear 
in  the  street  except  as  one  of  a  long  double  file  of 
young  ladies  —  maiden  soldiers  of  culture. 

And  the  line  was  not  always  viewed  by  spectators  as 
martial  and  imposing.  Now  and  then  an  imaginative 
urchin  was  evidently  reminded  by  it  of  a  flock  of  sheep, 
and  would  apostrophize  it  with  the  bleating  cry  by 


* 


8  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

which  those  innocent  and  pretty  creatures  seem  wont  to 
express  their  ordinary  emotions. 

On  one  occasion,  largely  in  sport,  though  with  much 
pretended  vexation,  Stella  caught  hold  of  a  child  who 
was  thus  shouting  near  her,  and  shook  him  completely 
beyond  any  further  display  of  his  wit  or  wits,  —  a  feat 
which  was  a  palpable  breach  of  decorum,  but  which 
caused  much  merriment  in  the  street.  She  looked 
up  and  saw  the  eyes  of  a  handsome,  stately  youth  fixed 
upon  hers,  and  fairly  dancing  with  mirth.  She  broke 
into  a  ringing  laugh,  blushed  to  her  temples,  and  hast- 
ened back  to  her  place  in  the  ranks,  without  looking 
back.  The  stripling  regarded  her  admiringly  for  a 
moment,  and  murmuring,  "  What  a  dear  Amazon  to 
be  sure,"  he  too  passed  on. 

The  incident  was  simple  enough  to  have  been  unre- 
membered  and  unrecorded.  But  it  appears  they  were 
to  meet  again,  and  to  one  of  them  it  was  to  be  rather 
singularly  recalled. 

Stella's  education  was,  at  the  end  of  the  appointed 
time,  called  finished.  She  left  Madame  de  Villier's 
seminary,  one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  its  scholars, 
as  well  as  one  of  the  fairest  and  most  attractive.  She 
had  been  placed  there  to  study ;  and  though  extraordi- 
nary application  was  not  the  most  prominent  of  her 
good  qualities,  she  had  attended  faithfully  to  all  her 
allotted  tasks. 

She  had,  at  this  period,  a  passion  for  the  beautiful, 
which  distinguished  her  in  all  matters  of  taste,  and  was 
remarked  by  every  one  about  her.  But  it  penetrated 
deeper  than  their  glances,  unconsciously,  even  to  her- 
self, underlying  her  success  in  particular  studies.  She 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  d 

did  not  know,  for  instance,  why  she  learned  French 
without  effort  —  almost  intuitively.  It  was  much  more 
difficult  to  many  of  her  classmates,  who  in  other 
branches  were  her  equals.  It  was  the  same  with  music, 
in  which  she  at  last  excelled  both  scholars  and  teachers. 
But  French  is  the  high-bred  language  of  courtly  ele- 
gance. In  it,  if  one  cannot  cry,  it  is  said:  "il  n'Stoit 
plus  le  maitre  de  verser  des  larmes"  *  It  is  the  mother 
tongue  of  formal  taste,  as  Italian  is  that  of  harmonious 
witchery.  Music  again,  as  far  as  it  goes  —  and  that 
certainly  is  far  —  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all  vehicles  of 
expression.  Roses  and  the  choicest  flowers,  may  in 
their  way  and  sphere  compare  with  it.  What  else 
can? 

When  Stella  returned  home  to  New  York,  it  was  — 
to  be  married.  Yes,  that  was  the  goal  of  her  youthful 
destiny,  as  her  father  had  settled  it.  She  must  be  mar- 
ried and  located.  It  must  be  well  done  too.  This  he 
had  figured.  It  was  a  most  important  business  trans- 
action, in  which  he  must  not  fail  to  do  himself  credit. 

Did  he  not  love  his  only  daughter?  Certainly  he 
did.  He  would  have  affirmed  it  as  strenuously  as  any 
man.  Only  he  supposed  that  he  knew  her  best  interests 
a  great  deal  better  than  she  did.  He  did  not  believe  in 
"overmuch  sentiment;"  in  any  "undue  weight  of 
love."  Taste  should  have  its  proper  influence,  to  be 
sure.  But  affection  had  never  taken  an  all-engrossing 
hold  upon  him :  why  should  other  people  go  crazy 
about  it? 


*  Madame  de  Stael's  dubious  hero  "Oswald"  (in  "Corinne")  will 
be  remembered  as  "  no  longer  the  master  of  shedding  tears." 


10  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  Happiness,  my  dear  sir,"  he  was  accustomed  to  say, 
— "  that  consists  of  a  proper  establishment,  and  easy, 
agreeable  surroundings.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
like  position  and  plenty.  These,  I  believe,  sir,  are 
available  when  kisses  and  notions  have  melted  away." 

So  he  reasoned,  after  the  manner  of  heavy  Saxons. 

Stella  had  dreamed  of  love,  —  of  some  one  unspeak- 
ably dear  to  her,  to  whom  she  could  be  as  dear.  What 
maiden  has  not  ?  But  she  had  found  no  one  who  re- 
alized her  vision.  She  had  of  course  seen  those  whom 
she  preferred  to  others,  —  those  whom  she  fancied  for  the 
time  that  she  could  love,  —  whom  perhaps  she  fancied 
that  she  did  love.  But  they  had  all  quickly  waned  in 
brightness,  and  disappeared  from  her  heart,  without 
leaving  any  deep  traces  of  their  fulness  or  decline.  She 
began  to  feel  that  perhaps  she  should  never  meet  a  man 
who  could  call  forth  such  vivid  emotions  as  she  had 
imagined  ;  to  whom  she  could  devote  her  whole  nature  ; 
on  whom  she  could  lavish  her  whole  existence,  content 
with  being  received  and  being  loved. 

Her  father,  however,  had  seen  one  to  whom  he  was 
quite  content  that  she  should  be  given  in  marriage,  — 
a  Boston  gentleman  of  wealth,  station,  and  forty-five 
years.  During  the  year  previous  to  her  last  at  Mad- 
ame de  Villier's,  she  had  met  him  at  a  fashionable  sum- 
mer resort,  where  she  had  gone  with  her  mother  and  a 
friend,  to  spend  a  portion  of  her  usual  vacation. 

He  was  much  pleased,  from  the  first,  with  her  ap- 
pearance, and  as  he  was  a  friend  of  her  father's,  and 
she  had  met  him  a  few  times  at  her  own  home,  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  receive  such  customary  attentions  as  he 
chose  to  offer.  Neither  did  she  decline  to  make  herself 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  11 

agreeable  to  him  by  any  of  the  accomplishments  in  her 
possession.  He  liked  music,  he  said ;  and  she  played 
for  him.  At  the  piano  she  was  conscious  of  excellence, 
though  she  never  displayed  her  power  with  the  least  os- 
tentation. 

Of  all  self-love,  that  whicli.is  gratified  by  gratifying 
others,  is  certainly  the  most  delicate,  and  the  least  lia- 
ble to  detection.  It  can  scarcely  be  unlovely  or  wrong 
in  the  practice,  only  in  the  motive.  Perhaps  a  tinge 
of  vanity,  possibly  the  slightest  touch  of  coquetry, 
mingled,  unsuspected  by  herself,  with  Stella's  endeav- 
ors. For  say  what  we  will,  the  desire  to  please  even 
those  we  care  little  for,  is  everywhere  a  temptation  to 
the  amiable. 

But  the  idea  of  loving  Mr.  Torson  never  entered  her 
mind.  She  accepted  his  offerings  of  French  books  and 
of  flowers,  very  much  in  the  spirit  in  which  he  said  they 
were  tendered,  —  "as  partial  payments  for  the  pleasure 
she  gave  him  by  her  playing." 

But  he  cared  less  for  the  music  than  he  asserted. 
He  gave  her  the  books  and  the  flowers,  because  he  was 
aware  that  she  was  fond  of  them,  and  because  it  was 
no  trouble  to  him ;  just  as  he  would  have  caressed  any 
pet  that  he  had  begun  to  desire  should  follow  him.  He 
had  grown  attached  to  Stella,  as  far  as  he  was  capable 
of  attachment,  and  had  determined  to  ask  her  hand  of 
Mr.  Maign.  He  had  been  a  bachelor  up  to  this  time, 
but  now  there  was  no  need  of  it.  He  had  made  money 
—  enough  money  —  and  could  have  everything  it  could 
buy.  What  more  could  any  young  woman  want  ? 
He,  too,  reasoned  very  much  like  Stella's  father,  and 
supposed  himself  quite  good  enough  for  Stella  herself. 


12  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

But  he  had  the  subtilty  and  tact  not  to  exhibit  all  he 
felt.  He  accepted  the  assertion,  that  language  is  to 
"  conceal  thought,"  as  well  as  to  express  it.  He  ad- 
mired Stella,  and  wanted  her  as  a  finish  to  his  leisure, 
his  house,  and  equipage.  He  sometimes  felt  there  was 
something  about  her  that  he  could  not  completely  un- 
derstand. But  what  of  that?  He  had  no  misgiving 
about  his  being  able  to  conceive  and  appreciate  all  that 
was  worth  the  while. 

He  knew  that  she  was  to  remain  with  Madame  de 
Villier  one  more  year,  and  that  her  parents  would  then 
be  quite  willing  she  should  marry,  provided  the  mar- 
riage were  one  of  wealth  and  the  proper  social  position. 
He  thought  that  his  friend,  his  old  business  acquaint- 
ance, Mr.  Maign,  would  not  object  to  a  still  nearer 
intimacy.  So,  fully  assured  that  he  would  encounter 
no  opposition  from  him,  he  broached  the  subject,  a 
month  or  two  afterward,  in  a  plain,  unhesitating,  com- 
mercial way,  saying  that,  with  his  friend's  consent,  he 
should  like  to  pay  his  addresses  to  Stella,  and  subse- 
quently, with  the  consent  of  the  young  lady,  he  should 
like  to  marry  her.  He  added  that  he  had  a  couple  of 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  could  take  good  care  of  a 
wife,  and  that  he  thought  Stella  excellently  well  fitted 

to  take  charge  of  his  mansion  on  B street,  which 

he  had  no  doubt  she  would  consider  one  of  the  best. 

This  conversation,  this  manner,  was  precisely  after 
Mr.  Maign's  own  heart.  Nothing  could  have  suited 
him  better.  He  scratched  his  head,  pulled  the  ends  of 
liis  side-whiskers,  and  said : 

"  Ah,  yes,  certainly,  my  boy  ;  I  see  no  objection  ;  I 
think  we  may  call  it  as  good  as  settled.  Stella  would 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  13 

be  very  silly  to  hesitate,  very  unreasonable  to  refuse 
you ;  and  it  seems  to  me,  she  is  a  pretty  sensible  girl. 
My  old  friend  too !  No,  she  can't  be  so  foolish  as  to 
deny  us :  we  could  never  allow  it ;  could  we  ?  It 
would  put  my  mind  quite  at  ease  to  see  her  well  estab- 
lished, and  with  you.  Besides,  girls  sometimes  get 
strange  freaks  into  their  heads ;  it  is  best  to  put  them 
on  the  right  track  early.  If  permitted  to  go  any  way, 
she  might  fancy  some  poor  devil  who  could  do  nothing 
but  paint  a  picture  or  write  a  song.  That  would  bring 
me  to  the  grave-digger  at  once.  I  will  speak  to  Stella, 
myself;  and  you  may  rest  perfectly  content.  And 
come  to  our  house  as  often  as  your  time  warrants. 
Make  it  your  home.  You  and  I  understand  each  other 
perfectly.  Mrs.  Maign  will  be  glad  to  know  you 
better." 

Mr.  Jabed  Z.  Torson  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with 
this  conversation.  His  friend's  reply  was  about  as  he 
had  expected.  It  was,  if  anything,  more  flattering  and 
unreserved.  He  felt  certain  of  possessing  Stella  Maign 
without  half  trying.  He  saw  that  her  own  father 
would  be  an  energetic  suitor  in  his  behalf,  and  would 
end  by  dropping  her  into  his  arms.  This  was  all  the 
better.  It  would  save  a  long,  perhaps  a  difficult  woo- 
ing, which  might  be  romantic  and  engaging  to  some, 
but  was  without  charm  for  him.  The  end  to  be 
attained  was  herself;  the  easiest  and  speediest  way  to 
it,  he  regarded  as  the  most  desirable. 

When  the  winter  holidays  came,  Stella  went  home 
for  a  week,  and  her  father  spoke  to  her,  as  he  had  said 
he  should  do,  in  reference  to  Mr.  Torson. 

"  Stella,"  he  began,  "  Mr.  Torson,  whom  you  met 
2 


14  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

at  Saratoga  last  summer,  has  long  been  a  friend  of 
mine  ;  he  wishes  to  become  my  son  ;  in  short,  he  wants 
you  for  his  wife.  Treat  him  well ;  you  will  like  him. 
He  is  one  of  the  smartest  fellows  in  Boston.  He  is  a 
solid.  He  is  worth  a  quarter  of  a  million,  and  has 
made  it  himself.  He  is  a  self-made  man.  In  ten  years 
he  will  double  his  fortune.  He  can  take  the  very  best 
care  of  you,  and  place  you  in  a  circle  you  are  fitted  for. 
Stella,  it  is  a  good  thing.  You  have  always  placed 
some  confidence  in  my  judgment.  Don't  belie  your- 
self now ;  don't  stand  in  your  own  light,  in  this  most 
important  instance.  I  told  him  you  were  a  sensible 
girl,  who  knew  a  man  from  a  humming-bird.  I  am 
sure  you  will  prove  that  I  was  right." 

Stella  was  somewhat  surprised  at  her  father's  direct- 
ness, and  his  disposal,  as  it  could  not  but  seem,  of  her 
person  and  affections.  She  saw  at  once  that  he  was 
determined  upon  the  match ;  that  with  him  it  was 
already  a  decree.  But  she  was  not  wholly  unprepared 
for  the  information  he  gave  her.  Hints  in  her  mother's 
letters  had  signified  that  Mr.  Torson  had  been  "  very 
much  taken  "  with  her,  and  would  probably  find  occa- 
sion to  visit  New  York  and  her  father's  house,  oftener 
than  he  had  previously  done.  But  she  did  not  love 
him  :  how  could  she,  why  should  she  love  him  ?  She 
had  regarded  him  as  a  substantial,  complaisant  gentle- 
man, silver-gray,  rather  high-fed,  quite  as  strict  in 
manners  as  in  morals,  of  sound  business  qualifications, 
and  a  handsome  fortune.  She  had  seen  him  occasion- 
ally, since  she  could  first  distinguish  one  person  from 
another.  For  the  past  three  years  he  had  been  abroad 
much  of  the  time,  regulating  and  closing  up  some  com- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  15 

mercial  transactions  in  England  and  France.  Mean- 
while she  had  sprung  up  from  girlhood  to  womanhood ; 
and  now  it  was  plain  that  he  desired  to  add  her  to  his 
list  of  valuables. 

"  But,  father,"  she  said,  "  it  would  appear  very- 
strange  for  me  to  marry  him.  It  appears  very  strange 
that  he  wants  me.  Pardon  me,  but  if  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  respect  him  a  little  more,  I  should  think 
of  him  as  an  uncle,  —  your  brother,  and  scarcely  a 
younger  one.  I  have  often  heard  you  speak  of  his 
ability  and  industry.  I  ought,  certainly,  to  respect  his 
good  qualities.  But  have  I  not  heard  even  you  touch 
depreciatingly  upon  some  of  his  frailties  ?  Have  I  not, 
for  example,  heard  you  speak  of  .him,  with  a  slight 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  '  a  little  wild,'  in  his  younger 
days  ?  It  is  unnecessary  to  hide  from  you  that  others 
have  alluded  to  him  in  the  same  manner.  He  has  been 
courteous  and  respectful  to  me ;  I  have  found  no  fault 
with  his  deportment.  But,  my  dear  father,  now  that  I 
know  his  intentions,  I  can't  help  a  slight  shrinking 
from  him." 

"  Well,  well,  Stella,"  responded  Mr.  Maign,  "  that 
will  do.  '  Frailties  ! '  —  'a  little  wild,'  indeed !  One 
would  think  you  were  a  Beecher,  and  had  gone  to 
preaching  infidelity  over  in  Brooklyn.  What  do  you 
suppose  you  know  about  the  world  as  it  is  ?  *  Have  you 
learned  from  a  few  books,  and  two  or  three  languages, 
that  men  are  mixed  of  sanctity,  sprinkled  with  cologne, 
and  set  on  their  feet  so  as  never  to  slip  and  get  the 
least  soiled  ?  Do  you  imagine,  child,  that  I  have  lived 
over  fifty  years  without  knowing  a  thing  or  two  ?  Is 
there  anybody  that  can  have  your  interest  nearer  at 


16  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

heart  than  I?  Can  anybody  manage  it  better?  I 
have  considered  all  your  objections.  Torson  isn't  Saint 
John,  nor  Adam  before  the  fall ;  but  he  is  a  sensible, 
sober  man,  who  has  attended  to  his  affairs  and  got  rich. 
Any  spirited  woman  in  the  country  would  be  glad  to 
catch  him.  He  moves  in  the  most  respectable  society, 
and  nobody  but  a  British  peer  could  carry  you  higher. 
He  hasn't  done  anything  so  very  bad,  either.  Old 
men  shrug  their  shoulders  over  young  ones,  and,  at 
fifty,  over  themselves  at  twenty-five.  Torson  had  a 
few  wild  oats  to  sow.  Now  they  are  all  disposed  of, 
and  done  with.  He  is  established  and  sure,  —  much 
more  so  than  any  youngster  I  could  trust  you  to.  If 
he  had  been  married,  twenty  years  ago,  perhaps  you 
would  have  heard  no  pretty  stories  about  him.  As  it 
is,  all  the  stories  are  old  ones,  and,  like  the  scars  of  an 
old  soldier,  they  have  brought  experience  with  them. 
He  will  treat  you  better  than  any  boy,  believe  me. 
Ask  your  mother  if  I'm  not  right." 

"  I  know  already,"  replied  Stella,  "  from  what  she 
has  hinted  and  looked,  what  she  will  say.  I  do  not 
mean  to  be  capricious  or  undutiful.  Certainly  I  have 
no  want  of  confidence  in  my  parents.  I  will  try  to  look 
upon  Mr.  Torson  as  you  do.  Perhaps  by  the  time  my 
term  at  school  is  finished,  I  can  view  him  more  favor- 
ably. I  ar»  to  be  there  six  months  yet ;  then  I  will 
try  to  do  as  you  think  best." 

Stella  shut  herself  up  in  her  room,  and  wept.  The 
reality,  then,  had  come.  She  must  try  to  love  Mr.  Tor- 
son.  Or  could  she  marry  him  without  loving  him  ?  — 
without  at  least  respecting  him  ?  She  felt  as  though 
she  would  throw  herself  on  his  pride  and  generosity, 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  17 

and  flatly  beg  him  not  to  persist  in  his  suit.  But  no. 
He  wanted  her.  He  was  cool,  unenthusiastic,  and  not 
used  to  being  thwarted.  He  would  think  her  disincli- 
nation for  him  a  mere  freak,  which  he  could  easily 
overcome.  Her  father,  too,  would  so  declare  it.  And 
might  it  not  be  so  ?  she  asked  herself.  He  had  en- 
deavored to  please  her.  He  would  probably  be  kind  to 
her  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  all  the  pleasures  to  be  procured 
by  affluence  and  society  would  be  at  her  command. 
He  had  travelled,  and  in  particulars  and  details,  could 
make  himself  interesting.  He  would  soon  go  to  Eu- 
rope again,  her  father  had  told  her,  and  she  should  go 
with  him,  —  thus  fulfilling  a  dream  of  her  youth  which 
had  so  often  transported  her  to  the  scenes  of  the  old 
world.  Love  ?  —  well,  would  she  ever  really  love  any 
one  as  she  had  fancied  ?  Would  she  ever  see  any  one  to 
love  thus  ?  She  could  only  answer  that  her  ideal  had 
not  appeared.  But  if  he  should  appear,  what  then  ? 
God  alone  could  tell.  It  seemed  to  her  that  her  father 
did  not  appreciate  her  nature,  —  that  he  could  not  un- 
derstand the  .depths  of  her  feeling  ;  but  only  judged  of 
her  as  of  others  about  her,  whom  she  felt  to  be  more 
selfish  and  frivolous.  But  had  he  not  experienced  all 
that  had  agitated  her  ?  Perhaps  so,  and  that  all  had 
passed  away  as  her  illusions  would  vanish.  Oh,  yes ! 
he  must  know  best.  Yet  she  trembled,  as  though  fate 
itself  thrilled  her  with  a  denial  of  the  thought.  There 
was  a  clogging,  painful  sensation  in  her  chest,  as  if  an 
opinion,  gross  and  monstrous,  had  become  a  material 
substance,  and  lodged  there. 

She  went  to  the  window,  and  threw  back  the  cur- 
2* 


18  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

tains.  The  day  had  been  murky  and  dismal.  But  as 
she  stood  there,  a  flood  of  sunshine  poured  out  of  the 
heavens,  and  filled  the  horizon.  It  lasted  but  a  mo- 
ment ;  then  all  was  again  gray  and  sombre. 

Stella  had  scarcely  a  tinge  of  superstition  in  her 
mind.  But  her  eye  was  quick  to  note  all  phases  of 
nature  that  appeared  applicable  to  persons  and  condi- 
tions of  feeling.  She  paid  no  attention  to  them  as 
signs  or  warnings  ;  but  they  intensified  her  emotions. 

"  Foolish  child  that  I  am  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  yet 
what  if  I  should  sometime  stand  for  an  instant  in  the 
sunlight  of  an  absorbing  fondness,  then  be  thrust  back 
again  into  the  remorseless,  abiding  gloom  !  " 

When  New-year's  had  passed,  Stella  returned  to 
school.  She  was  more  sad  and  thoughtful  than  for- 
merly, but  confided  her  feelings  to  nd  one,  and  uttered 
no  complaints.  She  had  grown  dreamy,  and  seemed 
constantly  debating  within  herself,  some  question  that 
she  could  not  decide.  Still,  her  conduct  was  not  such 
as  to  cause  remark.  Her  recitations  were  as  promptly 
and  faithfully  rendered  as  ever.  Only  when  she  sat  at 
the  piano,  and  there  threw  out  her  soul  in  strains  \vhich 
seemed  to  sob,  and  beg,  and  bewail ;  to  rave,  to  pray, 
to  doubt  and  tremble, — only  then  was  it  plain  to  those 
to  whom  music  was  a  living  tongue,  that  there  was  a 
weight  upon  her  soul,  a  terror  within  her  heart. 

As  the  term  drew  to  a  close,  she  prepared  to  leave 
the  school,  and  proceed  home  to  fulfil  her  father's 
behest.  Her  heart  had  succumbed  to  his  will. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  must  do  as  Fate  and  he  to- 
gether demand." 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  19 

Sad  and  tearful,  but  loaded  with  compliments  and 
prizes,  Stella  bade  adieu  to  Madame  de  Villier,  and  in 
a  few  hours  was  once  again  in  her  father's  mansion. 
Two  months  from  that  day  she  was  married,  and  be- 
came Mrs.  J.  Z.  Torson.  Forgive  her:  she  was  not 
yet  eighteen. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MR.  AND  MRS.  TORS  ON,  after  making  an 
American  tour  of  about  a  month's  duration, 
during  which  they  visited  some  of  the  most  notable 
places  in  the  country,  repaired  to  their  residence  in 
Boston,  where  they  remained  a  few  days,  and  then 
sailed  for  England. 

Stella  had  not  loved  her  husband  when  he  was  her 
lover,  nor  had  she  since  learned  to  love  him  more. 
But  she  had  determined  to  be  a  reasonable  and  faithful 
wife.  This  was  all  he  could  ask,  she  thought ;  for  he 
had  known  her  feelings  when  he  took  her. 

She  had  anticipated  much  pleasure  from  her  visit  to 
the  old  world.  To  look  upon  the  parent  countries  of 
her  own  fair  land,  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  one  of 
the  constant  longings  of  her  youth.  But  she  connected 
their  distinguished  places,  their  time-worn  edifices,  their 
charming  natural  scenes,  with  momentous  epochs  full 
of  aspiration  and  endeavor,  and  with  majestic  men  or 
noble  women  who  had  made  them  hallowed.  Apart 
from  these,  palaces,  parks,  or  ruined  piles  of  granite, 
had  no  more  interest  for  her  than  other  grand  or  beau- 
tiful objects,  which  she  could  see  without  the  fatigue 
and  exposure  of  travel.  They  were  pleasant  enough, 
(20) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  21 

even  to  the  eye  alone ;  but  she  demanded  that,  in 
viewing  them,  the  eye  should  reflect  upon  the  soul,  en- 
lightment  and  elevation. 

Her  husband  was  wholly  different.  He  could  give 
her  the  square  feet  of  St.  Paul's,  and  catalogue  its  dec- 
orations ;  he  could  point  out  the  statues  and  relics  of 
kings,  or  queens,  or  lords,  and  gaze  on  them  with 
reverence,  whether  the  dead  had,  when  living,  done 
aught  but  eat,  drink,  and  misgovern,  or  whether  their 
presence  and  action  had  been  a  lever  and  a  blessing  to 
the  race.  He  could  designate  castles,  altars,  monu- 
ments, telling  when  they  were  built,  their  height,  and 
bulk,  and  material.  Then  he  supposed  he  had  told  all 
that  was  to  be  said.  'He  delighted  in  meeting  and 
associating  with  the  nobility,  and  could  remember  the 
day  or  hour  when  he  conversed  with  Lord  Bigburgh, 
or  was  at  the  palace  of  the  Earl  of  Sundryland.  For 
the  sake  of  their  society,  he  would  cater  to  their  tastes, 
their  desires  or  excesses.  To  him,  they  were  the  dis- 
tinguished men  of  the  realm. 

But  Stella  cared  nothing  for  them,  or  for  their  society 
and  attentions.  A  few  of  their  number  she  would  have 
delighted  to  honor  for  their  large  public  capacity  and 
worth,  which  she  had  read  of,  and  well  understood. 
But  she  felt  that  she  would  not  consume  the  time  of 
these  great  and  busy  men,  even  if  the  opportunity  were 
offered  her.  She  venerated  real  power  and  nobleness 
so  highly,  that  the  famed  possessors  of  these  qualities 
were  like  distant  and  almost  sacred  beings  to  her.  But 
titled  mediocrity,  still  more,  titled  vulgarity,  however 
lofty  they  appeared  to  others,  she  looked  upon  partly 
with  indifference,  partly  with  pity. 


22  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

She  could  not,  at  this  time,  fully  understand  her  own 
nature  —  why  she  lived  in  the  world,  or  what  she  most 
desired  in  it.  She  was,  however,  a  persistent,  though 
unconscious  realist,  searching  below  customs  and  con- 
ventionalities, for  their  meaning  and  essence,  and  through 
the  multiplied  ambitions,  endeavors,  and  performances 
of  men,  to  the  underlying  spirit  and  end. 

Her  husband's  mind  dwelt  wholly  amid  surfaces  — 
the  commonplace  affairs  and  spectacles  of  the  world  — 
and  could  no  more  comprehend  hers,  than  Bonaparte, 
with  all  his  boasted  knowledge  of  ordinary  persons  — 
Frenchmen  and  others  —  could  comprehend  a  patriot  or 
saint.  Mr.  Jabed  Torson  thought,  too,  that  all  which 
he  could  not  appreciate  in  his  young  wife,  was  senti- 
mental and  girlish  ;  —  that  her  enthusiasms  were  weak- 
nesses with  which  no  man  like  him  should  be  soft 
enough  to  sympathize. 

She  plainly  read  this  opinion  in  his  words  and 
actions,  and  felt,  for  her  part,  that,  like  most  others,  he 
was  merely  one  side  of  a  man :  —  that  his  mind  was 
stationary  and  executive,  without  the  perception  of  en- 
largement and  progression ;  that  he  had  practical  tal- 
ent, but  no  spiritual  insight.  To  him,  she  was  "  an 
idealist,"  —  a  word  which  he  used  without  knowing  its 
meaning,  except  that  it  signified  something  for  which 
his  own  nature  had  no  correlative,  and  consequently 
something  which  must  be  dreamy,  exaggerative,  and 
futile.  But  to  her,  he  was  no  mystery.  She  could  de- 
fine and  classify  him,  placing  him  where  he  belonged ; 
because  she  possessed  the  properties  of  his  nature  — 
the  practical,  the  definite  —  and  with  them  also,  even 
at  this  time,  the .  perception  of  higher  properties  by 
which  those  were  included. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  23 

But  he  was  her  husband ;  and  she  must  love,  honor, 
and  obey  him,  as  she  had  promised  to  do  by  becoming 
his  bride.  Indeed,  she  had  no  inclination  to  disregard 
the  obligations  of  a  faithful  wife;  though  at  times, 
when  enraptured  by  some  mighty  work  of  nature  or 
of  art,  she  longed,  with  a  full  heart,  for  a  companion  to 
whom  the  scene  would  not  be  one  of  mere  cubic  mag- 
nitude and  regularity,  or  solely  of  material  wealth  and 
grandeur. 

Stella  remained  in  England  about  six  weeks,  when, 
Mr.  Torson's  business  being  at  an  end,  they  crossed 
"  the  Channel,"  and  were  in  France.  Stella  had  not 
seen  in  Britain  all  that  she  had  desired  and  expected  to 
see ;  but  she  was  quite  willing  to  leave  it,  and  now 
looked  forward  with  equal  willingness  to  the  time  when 
she  should  quit  France  and  return  to  Boston.  In  a 
foreign  land,  the  one  nearest  her  person  far  from  her 
heart,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  love  him  as  a  duty  — 
he  having  little  real  sympathy  with  her  in  the  objects 
which  most  interested  her,  and  sometimes  deprecating 
her  loftiest  qualities,  of  which  he  had  110  adequate  con- 
ception—  she  had  become  weary  of  the  very  objects 
from  which  she  anticipated  deriving  the  most  pleasure. 
Her  stay  in  France  was  brief  and  unsatisfactory  ;  and, 
in  another  month,  it  was  a  relief  to  be  again  in  New 
York,  at  her  father's  house.  There  she  was  to  remain 
a  few  days,  before  proceeding  to  Boston. 

"  Well,  Stella,"  inquired  Mr.  Maign,  soon  after  her 
arrival,  "  didn't  I  do  a  pretty  good  thing  for  you,  after 
all  ?  " 

"I  fear  not,"  she  replied.  "I  shall  have  much  to 
forgive  you.  But  we  cannot  improve  the  matter  now. 


24  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

1  shall  try  to  do  my  duty,  and  shall  do  my  best  to  be 
content." 

Mr.  Torson  could  not  help  observing  that,  although 
Stella  was  kind  and  gentle  to  him,  it  was  from  a  sense 
of  right,  not  from  love.  He  eould  not  fail  to  see  that, 
sometimes,  when  she  could  not  impose  her  wonted  re- 
straint upon  herself,  she  appeared  to  regard  him  as  only 
her  conventional  lord,  but  as  her  real  and  natural  infe- 
rior. This  irritated  him  almost  beyond  endurance. 
Only  a  thoughtful  and  noble  man,  as  we  have  often 
heard,  can  bear  the  self-consciousness  of  superiority  in 
a  woman. 

In  society  he  was  proud  of  Stella,  and  not  without 
cause.  As  soon  as  she  became  fairly  settled  in  her 
new  home,  she  had  paid  more  attention  than  ever  to 
her  music,  as  by  it  she  expressed  to  herself  all  her  joys, 
her  regrets,  and  sorrows.  And  when,  in  social  circles, 
she  sat  at  the  piano,  she  was  at  once  the  queen  of  a 
charmed  and  almost  breathless  group  of  listeners.  Her 
rather  tall  and  perfectly  symmetrical  figure ;  her  fine 
shoulders ;  her  delicate  features,  not  strictly  of  the  fem- 
inine Grecian  mould,  but  rather  suggestive  of  the  intui- 
tive, thoughtful,  Grecian  spirit  as  a  whole ;  her  long, 
heavy  hair,  dressed  low  at  the  sides,  with  no  ornament 
save  its  own  large  glossy  twist  at  the  back,  —  seemed 
to  reanimate,  with  bat  little  change,  the  simplicity  and 
power  of  antique  classic  beauty.  Her  appe'arance  itself 
was  an  instantaneous  assertion  of  the  delight  which  her 
first  touch  of  the  keys  would  certainly  afford.  Others 
were  often  asked  to  play  out  of  compliment,  or  to  fill 
up  the  time ;  she,  never  except  for  the  pure  gratifica- 
tion to  be  derived  from  the  music  itself.  Her  perform- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  25 

ance  was  always  unaffected  and  genuine,  —  never  for 
the  sake  of  performance,  —  never  with  any  attempt  at 
display  of  execution.  Every  note  was  palpable,  per- 
fect, and  in  its  place.  But  all  endeavor,  all  labor,  was 
subordinate  to  the  end  —  deliciousness  of  sound  —  har- 
mony—  and  still  deeper,  the  expression  of  emotions, 
and  even  powers  of  nature,  by  this  entrancing  utterance 
of  the  boundless.  Children  would  gather  round  her, 
delighted  with  some  gay  waltz  or  polka  —  the  ear  alone 
tickled  with  time  and  tune ;  young  men  and  maidens 
would  name  some  piece  which,  as  she  played  it,  would 
utter  in  melody,  perhaps  unconsciously  to  themselves, 
their  own  vague  ideas  and  dreamy  longings.  Then,  if 
she  struck  up  the  air  of  a  powerful  song,  or  some  deep, 
threatening  march,  through  which  she  was  now  and 
then  secretly  wont  to  throw  off  her  combative  and  dis- 
agreeable emotions,  —  a  sensitive  person  could  scarcely 
listen  without  clenched  hands  and  the  fire  of  conflict  in 
his  eye.  To  be  sure,  most  of  the  sturdy,  moneyed 
friends  and  acquaintances  of  Mr.  Torson  were  not 
people  who,  with  Novalis,  thought  to  music,  delving  to 
find  its  inmost  spirit.  But  they  could  easily  perceive 
its  outward  fascination,  and  thus  compliment  Stella 
with  earnest  looks  and  words  of  unfeigned  admiration. 

Yes,  Jabed  Torson  was  proud  of  his  wife  on  such 
occasions,  and  pleased  with  the  praises  bestowed  on  one 
of  his  possessions.  It  would  have  been  the  same, 
though  no  doubt  in  a  somewhat  less  degree,  had  the 
encomiums  been  lavished  upon  his  carriage  or  country 
residence.  He  knew  that  Stella  played  remarkably 
•well.  He  could  even  enjoy  the  music  himself,  to  a 
limited  extent.  But  he  regarded  the  wondrous  gift  as 


26  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

merely  an  expert  and  graceful  accomplishment,  which 
his  position  and  his  money  encouraged  and  sustained. 
Stella  continued  to  cherish  it,  because  she  loved  it. 
Her  piano  was  now  one  of  her  chief  comforts,  —  a  par- 
tial solace  for  many  regrets  and  wearisome  reflections. 

Mr.  Torson  had,  in  his  house,  what  would  be  termed 
a  handsome  library.  It  contained  a  fair  proportion  of 
the  miscellaneous  works  of  the  time.  As  a  book  be- 
came fashionable,  or  was  talked  of,  he  bought  it,  some- 
times looking  into  it,  but  much  oftener  placing  it  on  a 
shelf  where  others  could  see  it,  and  know  that  it  be- 
longed to  his  collection.  Old  books,  which  the  ages 
had  venerated  —  which  there  was  high  authority  for 
possessing,  if  not  reading  —  were  better  represented 
there  than  any  others :  they  gave  repute  to  the  whole 
assemblage.  The  poets  had  their  allotted  space,  but 
were  seldom  so  much  as  glanced  at  by  the  owner  of  the 
volumes.  Modern  thinkers,  too,  had  their  position  on 
the  shelves,  but  small  place  in  Mr.  Torson's  mind. 
The  Journal  of  Commerce,  a  paper  published  in  New 
York,  was,  in  general,  his  daily  literature. 

But  for  Stella,  this  library  became  every  day  a  richer 
treasure.  She  was  not  disposed  to  be  a  book-worm,  — 
to  hunt  amidst  the  dust  of  the  ages  for  words,  and 
maxims,  and  innumerable  facts.  She  was  not  disposed 
to  convert  herself  into  an  encyclopedia.  So  many  his- 
torical incidents  and  actions  seemed  to  proceed  from 
some  one  impulse,  or  foible,  or  desire,  that  she  regarded 
it  frivolous  and  mechanical  to  catalogue  a  thousand 
symbols  of  the  same  thing.  She  sought  rather  for  the 
cause,  the  explanation,  and  end  of  the  desire  or  emo- 
tion itself,  out  of  which  the  multiplicity  of  facts  pro- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  27 

ceeded.  Her  soul  asked  questions  which  ordinary- 
minds  that  she  met  in  her  parlors,  and  stronger,  but 
not  deeper  minds,  such  as  she  commonly  heard  from 
the  pulpit  or  rostrum,  could  not  answer.  Partly  on 
this  account,  partly  to  lure  her  thoughts  from  immedi- 
ate distasteful  surroundings,  she  spent  many  hours  in 
her  husband's  library,  while  he  was  on  State  street  or 
at  the  Revere  House,  as  his  business  or  his  leisure  dic- 
tated. 

As  Stella  had  intimated  in  conversation  with  her 
father,  Mr.  Torson  had  not  always  in  his  younger  days 
been  strict  in  morals,  though  discreet  and  guarded  in 
manners.  We  know  that  such  men,  when  advanced 
in  life,  especially  if  they  have  young  wives,  are  the 
most  exacting  and  suspicious  of  husbands. 

As  Mr.  Torson  knew  that  Stella  had  only  kindness, 
not  love  for  him,  he  had  occasionally  asked  himself  if 
any  one  else  enjoyed,  or  had  ever  engaged  her  affection. 
But  her  unexceptionable  deportment  in  society,  and 
her  coveted  seclusion  at  home,  gave  him  no  chance  for 
a  response  injurious  to  her.  One  peculiarity  offended 
him,  as  he  watched  her  in  the  social  circle.  When 
occasionally  some  young  thinker,  uninterested  in  the 
ordinary  topics  of  the  street  and  the  drawing-room, 
would  speak  to  her  of  an  interior  meaning  to  some 
strain  of  music,  or  to  some  painting  or  statue,  or  would 
allude  to  certain  men  whose  names  were  largely  un- 
der the  ban  of  popular  odium,  but  who  had,  as  she 
knew,  devoted  their  time,  their  lives  and  fortunes,  to 
elevating  public  sentiment,  and  particularly  to  lifting 
their  countrymen  up  to  the  principle  of  universal  free- 
dom,—  her  eye  kindled  with  an  admiring  enthusiasm, 


28  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

she  lost  all  restraint,  and  speaking  from  the  depths  of 
her  soul,  her  face  beamed  upon  her  companion  with 
sympathetic  generosity  and  fervor. 

"  What  a  fool  she  is,"  muttered  her  husband,  when 
he  saw  her  thus ;  "  I  believe  she  could  love  a  painter 
or  scribbler,  while  she  would  make  nothing  of  snub- 
bing a  governor  !  How  many  grandiloquent  words  she 
has,  too,  for  those  miserable  devils,  the  fanatics,  who 
have  wellnigh  brought  the  country  to  disruption  and 
ruin  !  Bah  !  she  makes  me  sick  of  her !  " 

But  he  never  discovered  anything  else  in  her  con- 
duct, to  afflict  him  with  sickness  of  head  or  heart. 

Mr.  Torson  and  Stella  lived  thus  together,  "  very 
pleasantly,"  as  people  said,  —  "  she  having  everything 
that  heart  could  wish,  and  he  proud  of  so  beautiful 
and  accomplished  a  wife." 

But  on  the  fourth  anniversary  of  their  marriage,  he 
was  suddenly  and  severely  attacked  with  a  malady 
which  seemed  at  first  much  like  bilious  colic  (un- 
pleasant even  to  speak  of),  but  which  settled  into  a 
fever,  and  finally  affected  his  brain.  His  physician  de- 
clared that  he  could  not  live. 

The  day  preceding  the  first  attack,  he  had  attended 
a  large  dinner  at  the  Revere  House,  given  in  honor  of 
a  distinguished  Southern  politician,  who  had  many 
times  threatened  the  dissolution  of  the  Union  and  the 
cessation  of  Southern  trade,  unless  slavery,  the  para- 
mount interest  of  his  section,  should  be  more  effectu- 
ally established  and  supported.  Boston  merchants  and 
lawyers — conservative  men  of  wealth,  influence,  and 
standing  —  had  met  him  on  this  occasion,  to  toast  his 
sentiments,  and  to  show  him  that  no  one  of  conse- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  29 

quence  in  the  city,  possessed  the  smallest  particle  of 
unfriendliness  for  him,  or  held  any  weak,  fanatical 
opinions  regarding  the  chivalrous  South. 

Mr.  Torson  was  a  forward  and  delighted  participant 
in  these  festivities.  He  was  eager  to  eat  with,  drink 
with,  smoke  with,  and  in  every  way  felicitate,  the  great 
and  distinguished  guest.  He  showed  much  capacity 
for  solids  and  fluids,  and  was  profuse  and  voluble  in  his 
attentions.  But  alas  !  his  geniality  was  too  sumptuous 
for  his  health  !  He  passed  one  troubled,  confused  night, 
then  grew  dangerously  ill,  and  in  five  days  the  banquet 
of  life  had  itself  closed.  Jabed  Z.  Torson  was  dead. 

Stella  had  faithfully  attended  him  during  these  five 
days,  and  had  bestowed  upon  his  distress  every  allevia- 
tion that  kindness  and  duty  could  suggest.  She  had 
even  wished,  as  she  saw  him  lying  helpless  before  her, 
that  Heaven  had  given  her  a  commoner  nature,  and 
that  she  could  have  sympathized  with  her  husband, 
and  loved  him.  But  she  had  done  what  she  could, 
and  now,  at  twenty-two  years  of  age,  she  was  a  widow. 

3* 


CHAPTER    III. 

Torson  is  dead.    Very  sudden,  isn't  it  ?    What 
a  magnificent  fortune  he  must  have  left  his  wife  ! 

o 

I've  heard  he  was  worth  half  a  million." 

Such  were  the  remarks  which  Mr.  Loudun  Braigh 
addressed  to  Simeon  Ecrit,  Esq.,  Mr.  Torson's  attor- 
ney, the  morning  after  Mr.  T.'s  death. 

"  Not  so  much,"  replied  the  attorney.  "  'Twill  do 
no  harm  to  speak  of  it  now,  and  to  you.  'Tis  a  good 
deal  under  half  a  million ;  but  then,  'tis  a  clean  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  But  Torson  was  a  man 
of  sense ;  he  was  rather  particular  about  putting  even 
that  modest  sum  completely  into  the  hands  of  his  wife. 
He  had  his  wits  about  him,  and  she,  you  know,  is 
touched  with  some  slight  peculiarities.  Besides,  her 
father's  money  went  by  the  board  in  '57,  a  year  after 
her  marriage  ;  and  of  late,  he  and  Torson  haven't  been 
such  good  friends  as  formerly.  I  suspect  Jabed  desired 
that  the  old  man  shouldn't  have  too  much  benefit  from 
anything  the  daughter  could  control.  Anyhow,  there 
are  certain  pretty  little  provisions  and  restrictions  in  the 
will.  But  she  can  be  comfortable  enough  if  she 

O 

pleases,  notwithstanding." 

The  fact  was,  as  Mr.  Ecrit  continued  to  explain,  that 

(30) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  31 

Mr.  Torson  had  devised  to  Stella,  as  long  as  she  should 
remain  unmarried,  any  sum  not  exceeding  ten  thousand 
dollars  annually,  that  she  might  choose  to  expend  for 
her  own  support  and  convenience. 

He  premised  that  he  wished  her  to  live  like  a  lady, 
as  his  wife  always  had  done.  But  he  had  noticed  traits 
of  her  character  which  he  had  been  reluctantly  obliged 
to  condemn.  He  thought  her  imaginative  far  more 
than  practical ;  and  not  likely  to  use  his  fortune,  if 
placed  entirely  at  her  disposal,  in  a  manner  that,  if  liv- 
ing, would  merit  his  approbation.  He  had  observed, 
too,  that  she  admired,  not  only  works  of  art,  together 
with  poetry  and  literature  generally,  but  that  her 
nature  inclined  her  also  to  the  producers  of  these 
things ;  and  as  they  were  seldom  competent,  either  to 
appreciate  money  or  to  take-  proper  care  of  a  wife,  he 
had  determined  that,  if  he  could  prevent  it,  neither  his 
wife  nor  his  fortune  should  fall  to  the  lot  of  any  indi- 
vidual of  their  class. 

Moreover,  Stella,  unlike  himself,  had  a  tendency  to 
particular  fanaticisms.  He  had  no  doubt  that  a  design- 
ing man,  by  an  appeal  to  her  sympathies,  could  per- 
suade her  to  give  thousands  of  dollars  to  the  cause  even 
of  abolition  itself,  which  had  always  received  his  fre- 
quent and  hearty  curse.  He  had  resolved  that  his 
money  should  float  in  no  such  channel. 

Considering  all  these  matters,  he  had  concluded  to 
make  her  an  annual  provision  of  the  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars, or  any  smaller  amount  which  she  might  wish  to 
draw  for  the  actual  expenses  of  living,  —  for  conducting 
her  household,  travelling,  etc. 

He  had  provided  that  the  remainder  of  the  income 


32  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

should  be  employed  for  the  accumulation  of  the  prin- 
cipal. 

No  part  of  Stella's  income  was  to  be  drawn  by  her, 
except  for  the  actual  purposes  specified ;  and  in  no  one 
year  was  she  to  expend  in  charity,  more  than  three 
hundred  dollars,  —  a  sum  which  he  thought  sufficient 
for  any  lady  of  sane  mind  to  dispose  of  in  that  way. 

His  house  was  to  be  retained  as  a  part  of  the  estate ; 
and  he  made  a  moderate  yearly  allowance  for  improve- 
ments and  changes  upon  the  place,  and  repairs  of 
equipage.  This  residence  was  designed  for  the  occu- 
pancy of  his  widow. 

But  if  she  should  marry,  or  should  disregard  any  of 
the  specifications  of  his  will,  she  should  be  at  once  de- 
prived of  her  income,  and  all  benefit  arising  from  his 
property,  except  one  third,  the  value  of  the  residence, 
furniture,  etc.  —  her  lawful  claim  on  his  only  real 
estate. 

In  such  case,  the  entire  residue  of  the  property  was 
to  go  to  one  Clara  Summers,  a  niece,  whom  he  had 
seen  but  once,  but  who  was  supposed  to  be  resident 
somewhere  at  the  South ;  unless,  indeed,  she  had  died 
there,  in  which  event  the  estate  was  to  be  devoted  to 
the  diffusion  of  arguments  and  facts  opposed  to  the 
"  disseminations  of  the  American  Anti-Slavery  Society," 
and  to  the  lamentable  tendency  to  "  rationalism,  tran- 
scendentalism, and  other  forms  of  infidelity,"  which  he 
stated  that  he  had  observed  were  fast  gaining  ground 
throughout  New  England. 

O 

But  in  case  his  wife  should  do  nothing,  during  her 
life,  to  deprive  herself  of  the  advantages  of  his  will, 
at  her  death  the  fortune  was  still  to  go  to  Clara  Sum- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  33 

mers,  if  living,  and  if  not,  to  be  divided  among  the 
heirs  of  one  of  his  distant  relatives,  who  was  himself 
very  wealthy. 

Thus  Stella  was  left  the  serf  of  a  considerable  for- 
turfe.  She  was  surrounded  by  every  material  comfort 
and  luxury  that  her  tastes  could  crave,  but  was  debarred 
from  opening  her  heart  to  love,  or  her  conscience  and 
generosity  to  their  natural  action  and  satisfaction.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  she  sought  to  free  herself  from  her 

'  O 

bondage  —  disregarding  the  will  and  spurning  its  aid 
—  it  would  immediately  be  turned  against  objects  and 
ideas  which  she  regarded  as  the  most  sacred  and  benefi- 
cent then  agitating  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  world. 
For  Clara  Summers,  evidently  a  Southern  woman, 
would  doubtless  use  the  property  in  Southern  fashion, 
investing  perhaps  the  whole  of  it  in  slaves.  Or  if  she 
were  dead,  the  matter  would  be  yet  worse,  —  the 
money  being  hurled  directly  against  the  mental  and 
moral  revolutions  of  New  England,  which,  instead  of 
anarchical  and  infidel  in  their  tendency,  as  Mr.  Torson 
had  considered  them,  Stella  deemed  grand,  and  highly 
important  to  the  progress  of  the  human  race. 

She  felt  as  if  bound  hand  and  foot ;  which  had  of 
course  been  intended  by  her  husband.  His  interest  in 
political  questions  had  been  keen,  and  his  negative 
attachment  to  certain  religious  forms  had  been  conspic- 
uous ;  but  not  sufficient  to  secure  his  deliberate  inten- 
tion to  award  them  his  whole  property.  His  will  was 
unmistakably  designed  to  be  a  chain  for  Stella,  which, 
with  her  ideas  and  convictions,  would  irresistibly  fetter 
her  to  a  course  of  life  prescribed  by  his  wishes. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

MR.  JABED  Z.  TORSON  died  in  September, 
1860.  Stella  appeared  at  the  funeral  in  deep 
mourning,  which  she  continued  to  wear  during  that 
month  and  the  one  following,  and  then  exchanged  for 
less  heavy  and  dismal,  but  still  plain  dark  colors. 

Her  independence  of  thought  had  for  several  years 
led  her  to  interrogate  fashions  and  customs  of  all  kinds. 

"  These  sombre  weeds,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  are  the 
natural  expression  of  our  emotions  when  we  are  obliged 
to  resign  a  friend  to  the  dead.  We  are  sad  within ; 
how  can  we  be  gay  without  ?  If  we  loved  and  re- 
spected the  one  who  is  with  us  no  more,  we  receive  a 
melancholy  solace,  as  well  as  food  for  our  self-respect, 
in  bearing  with  us  a  constant  suggestion  of  his  former 
presence,  and  of  the  void  now  caused  by  his  absence. 
How  could  we  be  worthy  of  the  departed  if  we  should 
not  constantly  think  of  him?  should  not  constantly 
surround  ourselves  with  objects  impelling  us  so  to 
think?  Thus  the  custom  inevitably  sprung  from 
human  sentiments,  and  when  not  carried  to  a  hollow 
mockery  or  a  formal  excess,  it  is  appropriate  and  beau- 
tiful. Other  sentiments,  however,  which  are  less  ad- 
mirable, often  mingle  in  it.  Material  minds  generally 

(34) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  35 

associate  death  with  fearful  gloom  and  ungainly  terror. 
They  have  painted  him  as  a  bony  skeleton  on  a  spec- 
tral horse.  These  follies  sometimes  enter  into  their 
mourning  robes,  which  are  then  typical  of  mysterious 
blackness.  Faith  is  not  beneath  them,  and  nothing 
bright  can  be  seen  beyond  the  solid  earth.  Could  we 
behold  the  spirits  of  those  who  have  passed  away  from 
us,  being  ourselves  able  to  rise  above  our  own  selfish 
sorrow  at  the  separation,  I  suppose  we  should  follow 
them  to  the  tomb  with  roses  on  our  brows,  rejoicing 
that,  if  noble  and  beautiful  of  soul,  they  had  gone  to  a 
sphere  of  increased  and  increasing  enjoyment,  and  if 
gross  and  sensual  here,  they  had  now  become  freed 
from  the  temptations  and  downwardness  of  a  bulky 
body,  and  by  being  severed  from  it,  could  have  scope 
for  the  reception  of  higher  powers  and  satisfactions  than 
it  had  been  possible  for  them  even  to  imagine,  much 
less  to  know." 

Stella  could  not  feel  that  her  husband's  condition  had 
been  changed  for  a  worse,  by  his  death ;  nor  could  she 
mourn  him  for  her  own  sake,  like  one  who  had  been 
loved  by  him,  had  been  understood  and  trusted.  But 
she  deemed  it  proper  to  respect  the  usual  customs  of  the 
society  around  her,  and  to  act  as  nearly  as  she  could, 
in  accordance  •with,  what  she  thought  would  be  his  own 
wishes. 

Her  most  immediate  reason  for  such  compliance, 
was,  perhaps,  that  she  would  not  tolerate  in  herself  the 
smallest  vengeful  impulse  toward  Mr.  Torson,  on  ac- 
count of  the  narrowness  of  his  will.  As  he  had  exhib- 
ited meanness,  she  must  beware  of  entertaining  hatred. 
She  must  not  condescend  in  anger,  to  even  an  appear- 
ance of  insult. 


36  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

Mr.  Torson's  mansion  was  closed  to  music  and  fes- 
tivities :  there  was  silence  in  the  unopened  shutters,  and 
an  air  of  solemnity  in  the  faces  of  even  the  domestics. 
So  it  remained  several  months;  and  there,  a  placid 
young  woman  with  mild  voice  and  tender  eye,  seemed 
to  lament,  though  with  sufficient  moderation,  the  de- 
cease of  a  worthy  husband. 

Indeed,  Stella  felt  that,  even  if  he  were  not  greatly 
missed,  there  was  sufficient  cause  for  quiet  consideration, 
if  not  for  mourning,  in  the  strangely-fettered  circum- 
stances in  which  she  had  been  placed,  and  in  the  mis- 
taken endeavors  of  those  who,  when  she  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  child,  had  thrust  her  forward  to  such  an 
untoward  destiny. 

But  she  did  not  complain  of  her  lot  with  peevish  in- 
anition. She  settled  into  it  serenely,  with  the  determi- 
nation to  consider,  carefully  and  leisurely,  what  she 
could  best  do  for  her  own  happiness  and  that  of  others. 

As  Mr.  Ecrit  observed  in  his  colloquy  with  Mr. 
Braigh,  her  father  had  lost  his  property.  He  had  been 
obliged  to  sell  even  his  house,  —  the  house  of  her  in- 
fancy and  childhood.  It  was  through  no  fault  of  his. 
He  was  an  energetic  and  able  merchant,  as  it  was  his 
ambition  to  be.  But  he  had  become  involved  in  large 
transactions  with  parties  whose  credit  was  unlimited, 
and  whose  resources  were  supposed  to  be  almost  un- 
bounded. Then  came  the  "panic"  of  '57.  Every 
merchant  began  to  distrust  his  neighbor.  The  alarm 
increased.  The  best  paper,  thrown  on  Wall  street, 
could  not  be  converted  into  money  without  an  enormous 
sacrifice,  if  at  all.  But  he  had  resolved,  as  he  said,  to 
"  go  through."  His  notes,  which,  in  the  height  of  the 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  37 

calamity,  amounted  to  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  week, 
"  must  and  should  every  one  be  paid."  At  first  he 
sacrificed  thousands  of  dollars  in  real-estate  and  the  best 
fabrics,  rather  than  "  suspend."  Then  came  a  large 
loss  through  fire  and  the  insolvency  of  several  insurance 
companies  which  had  been  presumed  to  be  perfectly 
sound.  At  last  the  notes  of  some  Eastern  manufac- 
turers, whose  paper,  as  everybody  had  declared,  was 
"A  No.  1  "  —  the  best,  or  as  good  as  any  in  America 
—  proved  almost  valueless  —  not  worth  fifteen  cents  on 
the  dollar.  Mr.  Maign  held  a  large  amount  of  this 
paper,  and  when  it  was  protested,  he  could  no  longer 
meet  his  own  notes.  Still,  perhaps,  he  might  have 
weathered  the  storm,  and  come  out  with  a  little  canvas 
flying,  —  a  few  thousands  left,  —  but  as  previously  he 
had  been  over-confident  and  self-reliant,  now  he  was 
wholly  dispirited.  He  became  emaciated  and  sleepless, 
and  it  was  even  feared  that  he  would  be  insane.  He 
allowed  his  property  to  pass  into  other  hands  for  settle- 
ment, and  soon  it  was  reported  on  'change  that  Rums 
Maign  was  "  completely  wound  up." 

He  was  now  a  poor  man,  unable  to  commence  busi- 
ness anew  in  his  own  name.  But,  his  depression  gone, 
his  knowledge  of  trade  made  him  a  valuable  assistant  to 
others,  and  he  could  still  live  comfortably.  Yet  this 
was  a  steep  and  long  descent  for  so  proud  a  man.  Be- 
sides, he  had  lived  in  affluence  twenty-five  years,  be- 
coming so  fully  accustomed  to  wealth,  with  its  many 
attendant. luxuries,  that  the  loss  of  his  mansion  or  his 
carriage  was  like  the  amputation  of  a  limb.  He  could 
not  resign  himself  to  such  a  fate.  He  had  no  ambition 
but  a  commercial  one,  and  no  simple,  inexpensive  tastes, 

4 


88  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

by  the  gratification  of  which  he  could  pleasurably  oc- 
cupy his  mind. 

Stella  pitied  him  with  all  her  heart.  Moreover,  as 
he  had  imperiously  insisted  on  her  marriage,  and  as  the 
older  she  had  grown,  the  more  her  heart  had  been 
estranged  from  his,  she  was  fearful  that,  in  not  wholly 
respecting  his  characteristics,  she  might  also  be  prone  to 
overlook  a  daughter's  duty  toward  a  parent  now  un- 
fortunate and  fast  growing  aged.  Here  was  a  point 
upon  which  she  was  extremely  sensitive ;  and  she  de- 
termined to  soothe  his  declining  years  by  every  comfort 
that  she  could  possibly  offer  him. 

Thanks  either  to  an  oversight  of  Mr.  Torson,  or  else 
to  a  mitigating  disinclination  on  his  part  to  prevent  her 
from  making  any  congenial  or  conscientious  use  of  her 
income,  he  had  indirectly  left  one  way  open  in  the  will, 
for  her  to  aid  her  parents.  He  had  not  specified  whom 
she  should  have  in  her  house,  what  company  she  should 
receive,  or  how  much  she  should  pay  any  person  or 
persons  for  managing  her  household,  if  she  should 
choose  to  put  it  in  charge  of  others  than  herself. 

In  fact,  the  will  paid  her  one  very  flattering  compli- 
ment. It  explicitly  forbade  the  bringing  of  an  action 
against  her  for  breaking  it,  provided  that  when  any 
question  might  arise  on  the  subject,  she  should  first  sol- 
emnly affirm  that  she  had  neither  avoided  nor  infringed 
any  of  its  provisions. 

Mr.  Torson  asserted,  in  this  connection,  that  what- 
ever might  be  his  wife's  faults  and  singularities  which 
he  wished  to  correct,  he  had  never  known  her  to  devi- 
ate, in  a  single  instance,  from  what  she  regarded  the 
exact  truth  ;  and  he  firmly  believed  she  would  forego 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  39 

all  the  benefits  of  his  fortune  rather  than  tell  a  down- 
right lie. 

Mr.  Ecrit,  when  drawing  up  the  document,  had  in- 
clined to  sneer  at  this  clause,  intimating  that  it  would 
counteract  all  the  others.  But  Mr.  Torson  told  him 
that  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  needed  no  dicta- 
tion ;  that  the  will  began  by  affirming  him  to  be  in 
sound  mind,  which  he  felt  himself  to  be.  Moreover, 
he  begged  the  attorney  to  bear  in  mind  that  it  was  his 
will  they  were  preparing,  not  that  gentleman's  own. 
Mr.  Ecrit  thereupon  proceeded  without  further  com- 
ment, and  the  testament  was  completed. 

Stella  gladly  owned  that,  in  this  one  instance,  her 
husband  had  done  her  justice.  It  filled  her  with  sur- 
prise. She  could  with  difficulty  understand  how  he 
could  so  implicitly  trust  a  conscience  which  he  could 
still  so  meanly  restrain.  But  she  was  thankful  that  he 
had  comprehended  her  even  sufficiently  to  rely  thus 
upon  one  virtue,  —  her  sincerity. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  she,  "  that  '  we  can  see  only  that 
which  we  ourselves  are.'  He,  too,  possessed  a  sort  of 
coarse,  common  honesty,  and  could  accredit  me  with 
unbending  truthfulness.  He  meant  well  in  other 
things,  I  doubt  not,  as  far  as  he  could  see ;  but  his 
higher  perceptions  were  dwarfed  and  bounded.  Sor- 
row I  must  feel  for  him  ;  unkindness,  why  should  I 
cherish  ?  " 

When  Stella  perceived  that  she  could  yet  aid  her 
parents,  or  indeed  any  one  else  whom  a  young  woman 
of  rectitude  could  include  in  her  household,  she  wrote 
to  her  father,  stating  that  as  his  daughter,  fully  appre- 
ciating his  pride  and  his  former  independent  position, 


40  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

she  blushed  to  make  him  a  proposition  which  she  was 
about  to  offer,  though  still  she  felt  it  proper,  and  even 
necessary  to  her  own  happiness,  to  do  so. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  father,"  she  continued,  "  that 
I  am  young,  and,  as  you  used  to  say,  rather  '  enthusi- 
rnusy.'*  Especially  during  the  last  year  or  two,  I  have 
given  myself  up  to  being  musical  when  not  literary, 
and  a  blue-stocking  when  away  from  my  piano. 

"  I  intend  to  remain,  at  present,  where  I  am  ;  yet  I 
don't  want  the  trouble  of  superintending  affairs  in  the 
house. 

"  You  know  how  I  am  situated,  —  money  enough,  a 
fine  house,  equipage,  servants,  comforts,  luxuries,  all 
around  me,  and  I  their  prisoner,  —  a  poor  little  chippy 
in  a  golden  cage. 

"  I  can't  lend  you  ten  or  twenty  thousand  dollars,  as 
I  should  like  to  do,  and  which,  with  your  business  ca- 
pacity, you  could  treble  in  a  few  years.  But  I  can  do 
something  for  you,  nevertheless,  while  I  can  relieve 
myself  of  many  annoying  cares. 

"  Now  if  you  and  mother  will  come  to  Boston,  and 
take  charge  of  your  little  girl's  house  for  her,  as  she 
dares  not  give  or  lend,  she  will  pay  you  three  thousand 
dollars  the  first  year,  or  more  if  you  desire  it.  Then 
you  can  do  some  sort  of  business,  and  be  with  business 
men,  just  as  well  on  our  Washington  or  State  street, 
as  on  your  Broadway  or  Wall  street.  Why  not  ? 

"  My  carriage,  too,  shall  always  be  at  your  disposal, 
and  you  can  ride  as  often  as  you  like.  Now  it  is  idle 
and  almost  useless.  As  for  myself,  I  scarcely  ever 
ride ;  as  when  I  go  into  the  street,  I  need  a  walk  ; 
and,  like  most  of  our  ladies,  I  get  too  little  air  and 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  41 

exercise  at  that.  Once  in  awhile  I  ride  out  to  Cam- 
bridge or  Mount  Auburn.  But  you  can  have  the  car- 
riage six  days  in  the  week,  and  with  my  company  for 
one  or  two  rides,  you  can  have  it  the  whole  seven. 

"  Mother  may  arrange  everything  in  the  house  to 
suit  herself,  except  the  library  and  a  small  room  next 
it,  which  I  am  going  to  turn  into  a  kind  of  retired  mu- 
sical sanctum.  These  two  apartments  will  be  conse- 
crated to  my  own  tastes  and  habits,  —  to  order  or  disor- 
der, silence  or  sound.  All  the  rest  may  be  as  nice  and 
as  much  like  old  times  as  you  please. 

"  Tell  mother  how  much  I  need  her,  and  do  come 
as  soon  as  you  can. 

"  Lovingly, 

«  STELLA." 

Mr.  Maign  was  deeply  affected  by  this  letter.  Like 
so  many  daily  occurrences  in  the  world,  it  caused  him 
both  pleasure  and  sadness.  It  seemed,  at  first  thought, 
a  terrible  event,  for  that  haughty  merchant,  whose 
mustache  was  now  gray,  to  become  a  dependant  upon 
his  daughter.  Yet  such  a  fate  promised  him  the  indul- 
gence of  all  his  former  habitudes,  with  even  the  means 
of  gradually  mending  his  fortune.  He  was  touched, 
too,  by  the  manner  in  which  Stella  made  him  her 
offer,  —  by  the  feeling  of  need  which  she  expressed  for 
having  him  and  her  mother  near  her,  and  her  delicacy 
in  volunteering  to  give  up  to  them  the  arrangement  of 
almost  her  whole  house,  that  they  might  feel  at  home 
in  it. 

"  The  dear  child  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  she  would  do 
this  too  ;  —  she  who  was  always  so  particular  herself, 

4* 


42  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

and  from  childhood  had  the  best  taste  imaginable! 
Well,  she  is  as  singular  as  ever.  I  never  did  know 
exactly  what  to  make  of  her  ways.  But  she  is  the 
best  girl  in  the  world:  I'm  sure  of  it.  Besides,  she 
shrunk  so  from  the  marriage !  Yes,  we  will  go  and  live 
with  her ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  learn  something  in  my 
old  age  ;  who  knows  ?  " 

Accordingly,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maign  went  to  Boston, 
where  they  were  soon  settled  in  the  Torson  mansion. 

The  old  gentleman  made  arrangements  to  close  up 
some  few  debts  that  still  hung  over  him,  and  to  engage 
again  in  business.  As  he  became  accustomed  to  State 
street,  he  forgot  to  pine  for  Wall  street,  and  as  Stella 
converted  her  stately  house  into  his  home,  he  could 
even  recall  the  Fifth  Avenue  without  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  or  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER     V. 

OEVERAL  months  passed  quietly  away,  during 
^  which  Stella  remained  with  her  parents  in  their 
new  home.  Much  of  the  time  she  was  secluded  in  the 
two  rooms  she  had  set  apart  for  herself,  and  every  one 
in  the  house  became  accustomed  to  her  habits  of  soli- 
tude. 

But  a  few  days  before  the  beginning  of  April,  in 
the  spring  following  her  husband's  death,  she  prepared 
to  leave  Boston  for  a  brief  visit  to  Ironton,  where  she 
had  spent  three  years  of  her  girlhood  with  Madame  de 
Villier. 

While  at  school  she  had  formed  several  pleasant  at- 
tachments ;  but  Cora  Clandon,  a  girl  of  about  her  own 
age,  had  been  her  favorite  and  most  intimate  friend. 

Cora  Clandon,  like  Stella,  was  the  daughter  of  an 
enterprising  merchant.  But  he  was  older  than  Mr. 
Maign,  and  had  retired  from  business  with  a  large 
property.  His  wife  was  dead,  and  Cora  was  his  only 
daughter.  He  had  one  son  who  was  in  the  army,  and 
was  most  of  the  time  absent  from  home. 

Cora  was  a  pleasant,  handsome  person,  not  much  like 
Stella,  but  very  fond  of  her.  Her  nature  was  lighter 
and  gayer  than  her  friend's,  but  she  was  very  brilliant, 

(43) 


44  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

good-hearted,  and  agreeable.  She  was  constantly 
striving  to  please  Stella,  while  at  school,  almost  every 
day  bringing  her  delicacies  from  home,  and  making  her 
little  presents.  She  regarded  her,  in  fact,  with  an 
affection  only  less  ardent  than  she  would  have  felt  for 
a  lover.  When  they  had  parted,  she  had  made  Stella 
promise  to  visit  her  sometime,  and  had  written  to  her 
occasionally,  ever  since.  Stella's  marriage,  and  the 
four  years  or  more  which  had  now  elapsed,  made  no 
difference  with  Cora.  She  had  visited  her  friend  in 
Boston,  and  was  still  determined  that  the  promise 
should  be  fulfilled. 

Stella  thought  that  a  slight  change  would  be  benefi- 
cial to  her  health  and  spirits,  while  it  would  be  very 
pleasant  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  her  school-days,  at  the 
same  time  gratifying  Cora.  The  season  was  forward, 
the  weather  already  sunny  and  genial.  She  sent  Cora 
a  few  lines  to  tell  of  her  approach,  and  the  day  after 
the  letter  was  received,  she  herself  arrived  at  Iron  ton. 

Not  long  afterward,  as  she  sat  chatting  with  Cora,  a 
young  gentleman  called.  Cora  introduced  him  as  Mr. 
Merlow,  and  when  she  addressed  him,  she  familiarly 
called  him  Charley.  He  was  a  person  rather  above 
the  medium  height,  of  slender  proportions,  quick  and 
someAvhat  angular  motions,  having  keen,  but  frank,  ex- 
pressive eyes,  and  short  curling  brown  hair.  When  he 
spoke,*  there  was  noticeable  in  some  of  his  words  the 
trifling  difference  between  the  New  England  and  the 
New  York  pronunciation,  and  Stella  at  once  located 
him  as  a  Massachusetts  boy  who  had  spent  more  or  less 
of  his  time  a  little  west  of  that  State. 

"  It  will  be  a  fine  evening  for  those  exercises,"  said 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  45 

he  to  Cora,  after  they  had  conversed  some  minutes  on 
general  topics,  and  he  had  addressed  a  few  pleasant  re- 
marks to  Stella.  "  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent your  going  with  me." 

Then  he  looked  suddenly  up,  first  at  Stella,  and  from 
her  to  Cora,  as  though  he  had  spoken  carelessly,  and 
was  annoyed  at  it. 

"I  must  disappoint  you,  Charley,"  replied  Cora, 
"  unless  my  friend  would  like  to  go  too ;  and  I  think 
she  had  better  not:  she  has  been  in  the  cars  all  the 
morning,  and  will  be  tired  to-night. 

"  We  were  speaking,  Stella,"  she  continued,  "  of  the 
closing  exercises  of  a  literary  society  that  Mr.  Merlow 
is  interested  in.  The  members  close  the  season,  this 
evening,  with  '  efforts  of  overflowing  eloquence,  effu- 
sions of  inspiriting  poetry,  and  accordant  examples  of 
impassioned  song,'  as  one  of  our  newspapers  has  it :  all 
of  which  means,  I  presume,  that  they  are  to  have  a 
pleasant  affair. 

"  Now  I  don't  care  about  it  at  all,"  she  added,  smil- 
ing, "  except  that  this  young  man  invited  me  to  attend 
with  him,  and  hear  a  poem  read  by  a  friend  of  his, 
whom  he  calls  superior,  profound,  and  many  other  nice 
adjectives.  The  friend  evidently  has  no  taste ;  for  he 
has  been  invited  several  times  by  Mr.  Merlow,  to  come 
here  with  him  and  call  on  me,  —  which  the  youth  has 
never  done.  But  not  wanting  to  break  Mr.  Merlow's 
heart  over  a  small  matter,  I  accepted  his  invitation,  and 
we  were  to  hear  the  poem  to-night.  Now  there's  the 
whole  story ;  and  the  point  of  it  is,  that  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted, not  to  go  with  you,  Charley,  but  to  stay  at 
home  with  you,  Stella." 


46  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

Charley  Merlow's  dark  eyes  leaped  and  capered  at 
this  sally. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  "but  I  hereby  invite  and 
implore  your  friend,  Mrs.  Torson,  to  accompany  us. 
Who  knows  but  she  may  herself  prefer  hearing  the 
poem,  to  the  enjoyment  of  your  charming  though  soli- 
tary attention  ?  " 

Thus  appealed  to,  Stella  said  that  she  should  be  much 
pleased  to  go ;  that  she  could  not,  in  fact,  be  persuaded 
to  withstand  the  temptation  of  such  an  entertain- 
ment. 

Her  decision  settled  the  matter,  and  at  the  appointed 
hour  they  started  for  the  hall  in  which  the  exercises 
were  to  be  held. 

On  the  way,  Charley  Merlow  talked  incessantly 
about  his  friend,  Earnest  Acton.  The  subject  of  his 
poem  was  to  be,  "  Chivalry." 

"  It  is  a  minor  effort,"  said  he,  "  what  Earnest  him- 
self calls  a  little  affair,  —  something  he  has  almost  ex- 
temporized. I  haven't  seen  it ;  but  I  am  sure  of  one 
thing  —  he  never  writes  a  line  that  is  not  thoughtful,  at 
least.  He  has  had  a  more  than  ordinary  inward  ex- 
perience, and  never  thinks  or  speaks  from  mere  au- 
thority. His  mind  has  much  less  than  the  customary 
respect  for  names,  and  perhaps  much  more  than  the 
customary  veneration  for  men  whom  he  regards  as  the 
exponents  of  truth.  It  grasps  individuals,  standards 
and  customs,  not  accepting  them  because  they  are  such, 
but  demanding  on  what  final  and  absolute  grounds  they 
rest.  Comparatively  few  think  and  act  from  such  a 
stand-point." 

Stella  was  much  interested  in   these   observations. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  47 

She  was  aware  that  friendship  easily  praises  the  objects 
which  attract  it ;  but  this  criticism  touched  her  own  ex- 
perience, and  a  part  of  it  seemed  as  though  it  might 
have  been  said  of  herself.  She  felt  that  she  already 
liked  Mr.  Merlow,  and  was  prepared  to  look  with  favor 
on  his  friend. 

As  for  Cora,  she  bantered,  and  laughed  at  her  escort, 
the  whole  way,  telling  him  that  he  repeated  Mr.  Acton's 
ideas  constantly,  and  was  "  a  second  little  Bozzy,  with 
by  no  means  a  second  Dr.  Johnson." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

AS  soon  as  Earnest  Acton  appeared  on  the  rostrum, 
Stella   remembered    having   somewhere   seen   his 
face.     But  her  attention  immediately  recurred  to   his 
poem,  which  was  as  follows  : 

"  In  ages  old,  but  when  those  lands  were  young 
Which  gave  the  fathers  of  our  fathers  birth  ; 
When  Europe,  strong  of  arm  and  fierce  of  tongue, 
Had  newly  broken  from  the  sombre  girth 

"  Of  tangled  forests  which  encompassed  her ; 
When  men  almost  as  savage  a^  the  beast, 
Had  bristled  out  from  wilds  of  oak  and  fir, 
Slaying  the  Roman  Empire  for  a  feast ; 

"  And  by  their  strife  to  root  all  culture  up, 
Had  shaken  off  a  portion  of  their  own 
Huge  shagginess  —  had  learned  to  taste  the  cup 
Of  that  refinement  first  despised  alone  ; 

"  In  those  old  times  which  wear  the  name  of  '  good,' 
When  worldly  honor  shone  but  from  the  sword ; 
WThen  all  of  labor  save  the  trade  in  blood  — 
The  battle's  reeking  barter  —  was  ignored ; 

"  When  kingship's  pride  was  to  dethrone  a  king ; 

A  noble's,  to  subject  nobility  ; 
(48) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  49 

And  strength  and  will  to  slay  a  foe,  the  thing 
Most  sought,  and  felt  the  greatest  need  to  be  ; 

"  When  freedom  was  by  chance  of  birth  controlled, 

And  man  as  man,  in  vain  the  boon  might  crave ; 
When  he  who  sowed  and  reaped,  or  bought  and  sold, 
Or  delved  the  arts,  was  everywhere  a  slave ; 

"  In  '  good  old  times '  like  these  —  for  such  they  were  — 

When  rudeness  was  the  background  of  the  scene, 
And  in  the  front,  with  warriors  circling  her, 
Arrayed  most  loosely,  Anarchy  sat  queen :  — 

"  One  figure  gleamed  with  bright  attractive  mien, 

Though  belted  like  the  rest,  and  wrapped  in  steel ; 
For  sense  of  duty,  like  its  armor's  sheen, 

Cased  it  in  length  of  light,  from  head  to  heel. 

"  Its  helm  thrown  up,  there  glistened  on  its  brow, 

Like  diamond  flash,  the  glow  of  piety  ;  — 
Not  soft,  but  sharp  ;  —  and  men  began  to  bow, 
And  said  with  awe  and  fervor :  '  Chivalry  ! ' 

"  The  figure  passed :  it  traversed  many  a  land, 

And  grew  in  grandeur  as  it  fared  along ; 
And  sometimes,  lance  in  rest,  leisure  in  hand, 
Attuned  its  spirit,  thus  perchance,  to  song  :  — 


" '  There  is  wrong  in  the  world,  and  the  strength  of  the  flesh, 
With  skill  like  the  spider,  hath  woven  a  mesh 
Where  the  wings  of  the  harmless,  the  limbs  of  the  fair, 
Are  tortured  and  torn  by  the  monster  that's  there. 

" '  The  castle  of  stone,  though  its  lord  mounts  a  crest 
That  looms  as  with  honor,  is  often  a  nest 
Whence  the  robber  swoops  down,  a  mere  hawk  on  his  prey, 
And  returns  with  the  booty  his  beck  reft  away. 
5 


50  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

" '  The  trader  is  spoiled  of  his  wares  on  the  road, 

And  they  crush  down  the  poor  as  ye  tread  on  a  toad ; 
The  highways  are  swarming,  as  bees  from  the  hive, 
With  bandits  whose  sting  scarcely  leaves  you  alive. 

"  '  The  pilgrim  who  journeys  to  tire  out  his  sin,  — 

Holy  man,  doing  penance  for  that  which  hath  been ;  — 
Aye,  even  the  priest,  though  the  people  revere, 
Must  mix  with  his  mission  the  bitter  of  fear. 

" '  And  we  know  —  what  a  shame !  —  that  the  Mussulman  horde 
Rear  the  impious  mosque  near  the  grave  of  our  Lord ;  — 
That  the  infidel  Turk  has  encompassed  the  shrine 
Where  once  lay  incarnate,  the  Ruler  Divine  ! 

" '  Yes,  there's  wrong  in  the  world,  and  who  shall  protect, 
Where  the  plague-spots  of  harm  the  defenceless  infect, 
Or  where  God's  holy  Church  must  to  Mahomet  bend, 
If  the  arm  of  the  knight  is  not  raised  to  defend  ? 

"'  So  I  wend  through  the  world,  and  my  home  is  my  steed; 
My  shelter  is  serving  the  weak  in  their  need ; 
For  though  storms  swell  above  me,  or  carnage  sweep  round, 
Where  I  rest  on  good  deeds,  there  my  safety  is  found. 

" '  My  lance  is  a  pillar  that  props  up  the  saints  ; 

And  my  sword,  a  support  when  the  wayfarer  faints  ; 

My  axe  is  a  fate  unbelievers  confess  ; 

And  my  shield  an  asylum  for  those  in  distress. 

" '  My  course  bears  me  East  or  it  hurries  me  West, 

Where  a  grief  can  be  soothed,  or  a  crime  be  redressed ; 
God  guards  and  rewards  me,  the  good  give  me  fame, 
And  the  bad  do  me  honor  by  cursing  my  name.' 


"  So  sang  that  ancient  rider,  Chivalry, 

And  was  refreshed  while  chanting  martial  deeds, 
In  stormy  days  of  hate  and  bigotry, 

Of  rapines,  legends,  signs,  and  counted  beads. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  51 

"  Then  sturdy  Talbot,  honest  in  his  thought, 

Had  said  that  God,  were  He  a  man-at-arms, 
Would  be  a  pillager  :  —  as  Talbot  fought 

For  spoils,  he  deemed  that  God  must  feel  their  charms. 

"  Then  cried  La  Hire,  who  always  bent  the  knee 

And  prayed  before  he  fought :  '  O  God !  be  near, 
And  do  for  me,  this  day,  what  I  for  Thee 

Would  do,  if  I  were  God,  Thou  wert  La  Hire ! ' 

"  Old  stormy  days,  harsh  men,  fantastic  dreams,  — 

They  lie  as  ashes  in  their  stately  urn, 
The  solemn  past ;  and  only  flitting  gleams, 

The  ghosts  of  what  they  were,  we  now  discern. 

"  But  Chivalry,  the  generous,  the  grand,  — 
Has  that  impassioned  figure  lost  its  fire 
And  chilled  to  ashes  too  ?  —  its  flaming  brand 

Sunk  quenched  in  selfishness  and  Mammon's  mire  ? 

"  Or  has  it  leaped  the  centuries,  and  found 
Its  chosen  foothold,  as  some  lips  assert, 
Beneath  those  fervid  skies,  on  Southern  ground  — 
The  '  sacred  soil,'  unlike  all  other  dirt  ? 

"  High-blooded  Chivalry  !  —  has  it  disdained 

The  world  that  works,  and  trades  in  common  ware, 
To  roam  where  Barbarism,  enervate-brained, 

Struts  peddling  men  and  maids  by  piece  or  pair  ? 

"  'Tis  there,  methinks,  though  sadly  masked  and  bent, 

And  bowed  in  sackcloth  of  self-sacrifice  ; 
But  there,  if  there  at  all,  its  arm  is  lent 
To  stay  oppression,  help  the  crushed  to  rise. 

"  Its  symbol  never  was  the  curling  lash, 

Nor  ever  was  its  boast  the  cringing  back  : 
For  God  and  man  was  lit,  its  sabre's  flash  — 
A  sunbeam  e'en  when  blood  imbrued  its  track. 


62  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  And  when  no  more  was  seen  that  mail-clad  form, 

As  it  had  lived  its  time  in  such  stern  guise, 
Its  spirit  lingered  still  to  cheer  and  warm, 
And  lead  each  lofty,  hallowed  enterprise. 

"  The  castle  was  not  now  the  robber's  den ; 

His  corselet  shielded  not  the  shark  of  gain  : 
A  savage  little  imp  had  come  to  men, 

To  batter  walls  and  cut  them  to  the  grain. 

"  They  called  him  '  Gunpowder.'     He  crashed  at  sight, 

Straight  through  the  bandit's  thickest  iron  hide  ; 
Where  he  appeared  the  vulture-flock  took  flight, 
And  despots  in  his  presence  grew  sore-eyed. 

"  The  Christians,  too,  such  Christians  as  they  were, 
No  longer  rumbled  East,  to  belch  God's  wrath 
At  those  who  held  the  holy  sepulchre, 

And  speed  each  Moslem  soul  to  endless  scath. 

"  Two  millions  of  their  bodies  strewed  the  way 

To  Palestine  !  two  hundred  years  they  fought ! 
Still  God  permitted  Mahomet  his  sway ; 

Had  they  not  done  all  mortals  could  or  ought  ? 

"  Stout  Christian  hearts  !  —  there  was  a  deeper  sense 

In  their  religion  than  their  eyes  could  see : 
The  tomb  of  Jesus  was  its  own  defence, 
And  he  had  died  for  all  humanity ! 

"  But  when  what  seemed  a  duty  to  perform, 

Filled  their  horizon,  and  they  strove,  and  bore, 
And  wrought  it  —  conscience-bound  in  that  war-storm, 
(God  bless  them ! )  men  or  saints  could  do  no  more. 

"  And  when,  the  storm  at  end,  they  sank  away, 

Their  glory  arched  the  broad  historic  sky, 
As  though  'twere  Iris,  veiled  in  light  and  spray, 
There  smiling  at  their  deeds  through  tears  on  high. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  53 

"  Then  Chivalry  threw  off  its  mail  and  helm, 

And  taking  on  itself  a  plainer  suit, 
It  gladly  entered  a  more  modern  realm, 

Where  newer  thought  was  bearing  richer  fruit. 

"  Had  it  once  slain  the  Mussulman,  to  wrench 

Him  from  his  miry  faith  ?  iJow  through  the  one 
Itself  so  long  had  held  it  cut  a  trench, 

That  standing  pools  of  life  might  freely  run. 

"  It  spoke  from  Luther's  lips,  when  firmly  braced 

On  conscience,  he  defied  authority  ; 
When  true  to  truth,  all  other  powers  he  faced, 
And  said  :  '  Here  must  I  stand,  God  helping  me  ! ' 

"  It  spurred  Columbus  to  his  weary  task 

Of  groping  for  a  .hidden  continent :  — 
To  age  through  manhood  doomed  in  vain  to  ask, 
That  he  might  bless  the  world,  the  world's  consent. 

" '  He  dreams  a  golden  dream,'  the  schoolman  said ; 
'  Yes,'  cried  the  priest,  '  a  dream  of  unbelief ! ' 
While  urchins,  pointing,  pitied  his  poor  head, 
Who  was  that  misty  epoch's  mental  chief. 

"  But  like  true  errant  knight,  his  gaze  was  set 

On  God  above  and  distant  lady's  smile  ; 
Till  her,  at  last,  our  mother-land,  he  met, 
In  person  of  the  blooming  Indian  isle. 

"  Thus  rolled  the  orb  of  progress  to  the  West, 

And  Chivalry,  whose  soul  had  wandered  through 
The  olden  world  with  each  exalted  breast, 
From  many  a  port  took  passage  for  the  new. 

"  But  cavaliers,  who  claimed  its  pristine  shape, 

Oft  lost  its  meaning  by  repressing  man ; 
While  sad  as  if  all  heaven  were  hung  with  crape, 
It  sojourned  with  the  gloomy  Puritan. 
5* 


54  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  'Twas  far  from  noble  then  to  giddy  eyes  ; 

To  them  solemnity  but  veiled  deceit. 
Yet  'neath  that  veil,  though  choked  with  needless  sighs, 
Duty  to  God  and  freedom  found  retreat. 

"  When  later  still,  the  youthful  continent 
High  prizes  for  heroic  feats  had  won, 
What  choicest  flowers  of  chivalry  were  blent 
In  one  bright  wreath  —  the  life  of  Washington  ! 

"  The  boy  who,  erring,  would  not  tell  a  lie ; 

The  chief  who  conquered  but  would  not  be  crowned ; 
Enriched  by  slaves,  the  man  who  would  not  die 
Until  their  broken  fetters  touched  the  ground  ! 

"  Great  soul  exhaled,  and  childless  borne  away  ! 

Yet  Father  to  America  the  fair  !  — 
Oh  !  would  that  she  would  imitate  to-day 
Her  sire's  last  blessed  act,  his  kindest  care  ! 

" '  God  give  her  speed  ! '  I  heard  that  voice  exclaim 

Which  filled  the  medieval  ear  with  song  — 
The  voice  of  Chivalry  —  and  then  there  came 
These  parting  accents,  as  it  throbbed  along :  • — 


" '  Still  there's  wrong  in  the  world,  though  the  features  of  crime 
Have  softened  their  red  with  the  changes  of  time, 
Since  housed  in  the  glitter  of  ponderous  steel 
I  crushed  the  iniquities  nothing  could  heal. 

" '  The  plundering  chief  is  a  handful  of  dust ; 
His  armor  is  food  for  the  hunger  of  rust ; 
For  the  hawk  of  the  castle,  the  buzzard  his  shade, 
Is  filching  the  poor  by  extortions  of  trade. 

"'And  there  breaks  on  my  ear  the  fetter's  dull  clank, 
As  I  heard  it  whilom  in  the  realms  of  the  Frank ; 
But  harsher,  and  sadder,  and  worse  it  must  be, 
Where  nature  established  the  home  of  the  free. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  55 

" '  No  hermit-led  armies  now  surge  to  the  East, 

Though  the  cross  has  won  strength,  and  the  crescent  decreased ; 
From  the  creed  of  the  Christian  the  edge  of  the  sword, 
Has  been  ground  by  the  cultured  to  sharpness  of  word. 

" '  But  an  idol  has  often  been  reared  in  the  fold, 
For  the  chosen  to  worship  —  the  Dollar  of  Gold  ! 
While  the  spirit  of  faith  has  been  bundled  in  form, 
Until  smothered  itself,  it  was  lifeless  to  warm. 

" '  So  I've  leaped  to  the  saddle  for  truth  and  the  right, 
And  levelled  their  lance  with  a  sacred  delight,  — 
Dismounting  old  errors  and  checking  the  new, 
While  freeing  the  many  from  bonds  of  the  few. 

" '  The  foolish  have  laughed,  and  the  heartless  have  sneered, 
Not  knowing  me  now  as  I  freshly  appeared ; 
They  have  shot  at  me  arrows  empoisoned  with  blame, 
By  the  venom  distilled  from  some  odious  name. 

" '  Then  saddened  when  wounded,  not  turned  from  my  way, 
1  have  fought  the  hard  fight,  gaining  ground  with  each  day ; 
But  I  hoped  that  this  Nation  would  need  not  again, 
The  blow  from  my  hand  that  would  leave  the  blood-stain. 

" '  I  trusted  that  mind,  not  the  battle-axe  broad, 
Would  hew  roughest  hatreds  to  kindly  accord  ; 
Yet  a  monster  seems  raising  his  head  for  a  stroke 
That  will  drench  it  in  crimson  'mid  thunder  and  smoke. 

" '  If  oppression  must  die  by  the  gash  it  would  make, 
Once  again  to  the  clangor  of  arms  I  must  wake  : 
For  the  virtue  heroic  now  leading  the  van, 
Is  fealty  to  God  by  freedom  to  man  ! ' " 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"TT7ELL,  what  do  you  think  of  my  friend?  and 
»  »  what  about  the  poem  ?  "  inquired  Charley  Mer- 
low,  of  the  two  ladies,  after  the  exercises  of  the  evening 
had  concluded. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Cora,  "  I  supposed  you  would  ask 
that,  the  first  thing.  Know,  then,  that  the  poem  was 
tolerable  for  a  young  man, — just  passable  —  nothing 
more.  There  wasn't  a  thing  to  laugh  at  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  end  of  it,  —  not  a  single  right  down  spicy 
line,  unless  the  one  about  the  '  sacred  soil,  unlike  all 
other  dirt ; '  and  that  was  bitter. 

"  It  was  a  fling  at  the  South,  and  our  Southern 
brethren,"  she  added,  looking  up  mischievously  at 
Stella. 

Charley  Merlow  laughed. 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Lively,"  he  said  ;  "  now  we  have 
your  weighty  opinion,  which  I  know  you  will  hold  at 
least  five  minutes;  but,  Mrs.  Torson,  may  I  ask  for 
yours  ?  " 

He  had  seen  from  the  expression  of  her  face,  that  his 
new  acquaintance  had  listened  to  Earnest  with  close  at- 
tention and  keen  sympathy.  Her  eye  had  kindled  with 
his,  and  had  softened  as  his  voice  was  modulated  to  the 

(56) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  57 

key  of  some  tender  or  beneficent  sentiment.  It  was 
evident  that  she  had  been  deeply  interested.  But  thus 
far  Charley  knew  nothing  about  her,  except  that  she 
was  a  young  widow  from  Boston,  rich,  and  accustomed, 
as  he  understood,  to  "  the  best  society."  He  was  very 
naturally  surprised,  therefore,  at  this  deliberate  response 
which  she  gave  to  his  question  : 

"  I  was  not  disappointed,  Mr.  Merlow,  in  your 
friend's  poem.  I  will  not  speak  like  our  sprightly  Cora 
here ;  but  quite  as  I  feel.  The  poem  seems  to  me  a 
brief  history  of  Chivalry,  a  criticism  on  it,  and  an  im- 
personation, in  the  two  songs,  of  its  real  spirit  in  ancient 
and  modern  times.  The  distinction  between  the  hero- 
ism of  the  soldier  and  that  of  the  self-sacrificing  thinker, 
is  clearly  drawn,  perhaps,  while  I  fancy  that  your 
friend's  preference  for  the  latter  is  more  decided  than 
he  has  portrayed  it.  His  allusions  to  pseudo  Chivalry, 
which  vaunts  itself  as  real,  because  six  and  a  half  cen- 
turies after  Richard  Coeiir  de  Lion,  it  still  surrounds 
itself  with  the  worst  faults  and  barbarisms  of  his  epoch, 
is,  as  Cora  asserts,  bitter.  I  think  nothing  on  that  point 
can  be  too  bitter,  if  spoken  from  the  indignation  of 
justice,  not  from  anger.  The  closing  lines  of  the  poem, 
viewed  from  the  highest  possible  stand-point,  are  not  the 
wisest  that  could  be.  They  are  local  and  temporary, 
then*  application  being  to  immediate  time  and  place.  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  the  highest  art  should 
always  close  its  efforts  by  lifting  us  out  of  locality  into 
what  Plato  has  called  '  that  one  sole  science  which  em- 
braces all : '  —  into  insights  of  the  infinity  of  absolute 
wisdom,  love,  beauty.  There  the  mind  always  finally 
loses  itself;  there  is  the  natural  climax,  the  natural 


58  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

peroration  of  all  its  perceptions  and  endeavors.  But 
one  can  hardly  compress  the  ordinary  and  actual,  then 
time  and  space,  into  a  few  stanzas  which  he  is  called 
upon  to  make  interesting  to  a  thousand  different  listen- 
ers. 

"  Chivalry,"  she  continued,  "  in  its  early  and  usual 
sense,  was,  as  the  poem  paints  it,  the  much-needed  ap- 
plication of  warfare,  in  a  rude  age,  to  justice,  magna- 
nimity, love,  mercy.  And  as,  in  the  minds  of  the  many, 
a  special  glory  has  always  hovered  about  the  pursuit  of 
arms,  the  era  when  the  brilliant  knight  was  lawgiver, 
protector,  lover,  friend,  has  always  lingered  long  both  in 
memory  and  imagination.  But  Chivalry  itself — its 
spirit,  its  essence  — -  can  of  course  pertain  as  much  to  an 
age  of  commerce,  as  to  an  epoch  of  tournaments  and 
courts  of  love.  It  is  with  us  in  the  world ;  it  has 
always  been  so.  I  think  one  of  its  most  signal  examples, 
in  the  medieval,  physical  sense,  was  before  us  not  long 
since  at  Harper's  Ferry.  For  the  most  exalted  spirit- 
ual instance  known,  we  must  look  back  through 
eighteen  centuries,  to  Mount  Calvary  and  the  Cross." 

As  Stella  spoke  thus,  she  had  given  herself  wholly  up 
to  the  impressions  presented  to  her  mind,  and  for  the 
moment  had  nearly  forgotten  where  she  was,  or  with 
whom  she  was  conversing.  It  is  true  that  her  first 
words  were  uttered  partly  with  a  special  design.  She 
hud  been  really  charmed  with  Earnest,  and  she  wished 
to  know  him.  It  seemed  as  though  he  might  be  a 
friend  with  whom  her  inmost  soul  could  commune.  So 
she  had  intended  that  her  criticisms  should  not  appear 
to  Charley  Merlow  as  altogether  commonplace,  and 
that  he  should  repeat  them  to  his  friend.  This  inten- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  59 

tion  had  soon  been  overpowered  by  the  thoughts  which 
pressed  upon  her,  and  she  had  spoken  even  more  ideally 
and  enthusiastically  than  she  anticipated. 

"Upon  my  soul!"  cried  Cora,  "how  completely 
you  sermonize !  Did  you  ever  preach,  over  there  in 
Boston,  where  everybody  does  such  strange  things  ?  I 
shall  have  to  look  after  you,  my  dear  ;  you  never  were 
quite  like  any  one  else.  But  in  these  parts  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  decorum.  The  ladies  think  highly  of 
Saint  Paul :  they  don't  speechify  much,  unless,  indeed, 
about  the  clothes  and  the  frailties  of  their  neighbors. 
There  now,  your  '  sprightly  Cora,'  as  you  call  her,  has 
delivered  Tier  little  address ;  here  is  the  moral  of  it." 
And  as  they  entered  the  hall  of  her  father's  house,  she 
put  her  arms  about  Stella  and  kissed  her. 

Charley  Merlow  said  but  little.  He  appeared  to 
have  been  stunned  into  a  sort  of  deferential  silence, 
which  pleased  Cora  amazingly.  She  kept  looking  at 
him  in  a  way  which  signified,  "  How  now,  Charley  ? 
Perhaps  somebody  else  has  a  friend  too !  " 

He  soon  took  leave  of  the  ladies,  and  made  straight 
for  Earnest. 

"  Great  guns,  my  boy  !  great  guns  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  soon  as  he  saw  the  latter ;  "  I've  a  peach  for  you  to 
peel  now  —  blooming,  ripe,  and  rosy  —  a  desperately 
charming  widow,  just  —  well,  I  should  say  just  twenty- 
three.  I  took  her  with  Cora,  to-night,  to  hear  your 
poem,  and  asked  her  opinion  of  it.  Straightway  she 
threw  bonnet  and  strings  clean  over  the  moon  in  her 
criticism,  —  went  up  out  of  sight,  with  high  art,  Plato, 
philosophy,  Richard  the  lion-hearted,  Jerusalem,  and 
John  Brown.  You  shall  go  with  me  to  see  her,  to- 


60  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

morrow  night ;  and  if  you  don't  talk  the  lights  out  of 
her,  I'll  disinherit  you  from  every  penny-weight  of  my 
affection.  Now  don't  say  no :  she's  Aspasia,  Lucretia 
(the  Mott),  Cleopatra,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  and 
Mother  Ann  Lee." 

Charley  finally  sobered  down  to  an  explanation  of 
his  meaning,  and  repeated  Stella's  remarks  as  nearly  as 
he  could  recall  them. 

"  Now  there's  no  need  of  your  reading  and  writing, 
twenty-five  hours  to-morrow,"  he  persisted;  "you 
shall  go  to  Cora's  with  me  in  the  evening." 

Earnest  said  that  he  should  certainly  like  to  meet  so 
charming  a  person  as  Charley  had  described,  and  that, 
if  he  still  insisted,  after  sleeping  off  his  "  afflatus,"  they 
would  visit  her  and  Cora  on  the  coming  evening. 

But  the  call  was  intercepted  by  a  somewhat  singular 
and  unpleasant  occurrence. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

V 

THE  next  clay,  while  Stella  and  Cora  were  in  the 
street  together,  they  were  accosted  by  an  unusu- 
ally bright,  pretty  child,  who  asked  something  from 
Stella  in  chanty.  The  little  one's  feet  were  bare,  and 
she  appeared  to  be  clad  in  but  two  garments  —  a  tat- 
tered dress,  and  a  small,  miserable  shawl,  pinned  about 
her  head  and  shoulders.  But  her  features  were  deli- 
cate, her  eyes  were  soft  and  truthful.  She  seemed  to 
possess  the  germs  of  intelligence  and  refinement,  which 
even  a  tolerable  fate  might  develop  into  beauty  and 
goodness. 

Stella's  soul  always  shrank  from  extreme  poverty, 
which  so  generally  forces  upon  its  victims  an  existence 
scarcely  more  than  animal.  But  the  sight  of  a  pretty 
little  girl,  thrown  on  the  street,  with  its  vices,  to  beg, 
caused  her  the  saddest  pang  that  she  ever  felt  for  the 
poor.  She  longed  to  raise  every  such  child  above  a 
need  so  wretched.  But  she  could  not  help  all,  and  she 
could  not  refuse  to  help  any,  without  feeling  that  per- 
haps she  had  added  an  impulsion  to  the  ultimate  career 
of  "one  more  unfortunate"  —  society's  worst  sorrow 
and  disgrace.  She  gave  the  child  now  before  her  .a  few 

6  (61) 


62  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

bits  of  coin,  asked  where  she  lived,  and  said  that  she 
would  perhaps  go  to  see  her  some  time  during  the  day. 

"  That  child,  at  any  rate,"  said  she  to  Cora,  "  ought 
to  have  one  decent  change  of  clothing,  and  a  few  kind 
words  to  touch  her  with  hope.  She  shall  have  them. 
I  will  do  so  much  for  her,  if  I  cannot  do  more." 

Accordingly  she  procured  a  small  bundle  of  such 
articles  as  were  required,  and  immediately  after  tea,  she 
and  Cora  started  to  find  the  house  where  the  child  lived. 

It  was  fast  growing  dark ;  but  they  expected  to  be 
back  again  in  half  an  hour.  There  were  a  few  dubious 
clouds  to  be  seen,  and  Stella  took  with  her  a  small 
iron-framed  umbrella. 

Just  east  of  Ironton,  and  on  which,  in  fact,  the  city 
is  partly  built,  is  a  range  of  steep,  high  grounds,  which 
the  Irontonians  call  "  the  Hill."  Somewhat  less  than 
half-way  up  this  hill,  a  street  called  High  street,  runs 
north  and  south,  opposite  the  central  and  upper  por- 
tions of  the  city.  One  section  of  the  street  was  at  this 
time  but  little  more,  than  a  road,  except  that  a  double 
stone-wall,  built  against  the  upper  division  of  the  hill, 
for  purposes  of  drainage  and  for  security  against  land- 
slides, made  a  good  foot-path  as  well  as  carriage-way. 

It  was  near  this  portion  of  High  street,  that  Stella 
and  Cora  went  in  search  of  the  little  girl.  It  was  some 
time  before  they  could  find  her,  and  when  their  errand 
was  done,  it  had  grown  pretty  dark.  They  thought 
nothing  about  it,  however,  but  stepped  briskly  along, 
intending  to  come  down  into  the  city  by  a  different 
cross-street.  They  soon  came  to  the  stone-wall ;  but 
as  the  road  was  hard  and  free  from  dust,  they  continued 
on  that. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  63 

From  the  foot-path  or  sidewalk  above  them,  which 
was  often,  in  summer,  the  resort  of  promehaders,  one 
could  look  down  the  hill,  seeing  the  portion  of  it  below, 
then  the  streets  and  houses,  and  extending  the  view, 
could  have  a  fine  prospect  beyond  the  city,  north,  south, 
and  west.  From  the  east  side  of  the  road,  where  Stella 
and  Cora  were  now  walking,  all  this  could  be  seen  ex- 
cept the  lower  portion  of  the  hill  itself. 

As  they  reached  the  most  deserted  part  of  the  street, 
yet  were  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  some 
small  tenant  houses,  they  were  met  by  a  coarse,  hard- 
featured  young  man,  who,  as  he  came  near  them, 
glanced  quickly  about  him,  then  attempted  to  snatch 
Cora's  watch-chain,  and  tear  the  watch  from  her 
pocket.  Her  shawl  had  blown  aside,  leaving  the 
chain  partly  exposed,  and  the  thief's  quick  eye  had 
detected  it. 

But  Cora's  motions  were  almost  as  quick  as  his 
glance.  She  instinctively  sprang  aside  just  enough  to 
avoid  his  clutch,  at  the  same  time  shouting  with  sur- 
prise and  terror.  She  placed  her  hands  firmly  over  her 
watch,  but  trembled,  and  begged  that  she  might  not  be 
molested. 

"  Give  it  up,  right  away !  "  said  the  man,  "  or  I'll 
kill  you !  " 

"  I  think  not ! "  sharply  responded  a  voice,  which 
this  time  astonished  all  parties ;  and  as  the  words  were 
spoken,  the  blow  of  a  fist,  from  a  person  .  running, 
sounded  from  the  face  and  teeth  of  the  ruffian.  It 
knocked  him  away  from  Cora,  but  though  he  stumbled 
and  staggered,  he  did  not  quite  fall.  He  was  a  desper- 
ate as  well  as  cool  fellow,  and  on  recovering  his  bal- 


64  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

ance  —  finding  that  his  new  antagonist  was  unarmed 
and  breathing  heavily,  as  though  exhausted  —  he  drew 
a  short  club  from  under  his  coat,  and  struck  the  man 
with  it,  partly  upon  his  head,  partly  upon  his  arm, 
which  was  raised  to  protect  the  head. 

"  He  will  kill  Mr.  Acton,"  cried  Cora.  "  Murder  ! 
murder !  " 

Stella,  too,  screamed,  and  in  her  exasperation  she 
struck  the  robber  full  across  the  face  with  her  umbrella, 
and  broke  it  so  that  it  held  together  only  by  the  silk 
covering. 

Half  a  minute  had  passed  since  he  attempted  to 
snatch  the  chain.  Earnest  Acton  —  for  it  was  he  who 
had  interfered  —  was  on  the  ground,  nearly  senseless. 

But  still  another  person  was  now  seen  approaching 
the  group.  He  came  running  toward  them,  with  an 
uneven,  bandy-legged  gait,  shouting,  swearing,  and 
brandishing  a  huge  knotted  stick. 

"Wait  till  I  git  forninst  ye,  ye  divl !  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  savage  Irish  accent.  "  Ye'll  be  in  the  middle 
uv  Hill  afore  iver  ye'll  murther  agin  !  " 

But  the  "  divl,"  as  he  was  called,  would  not  wait. 
He  saw  that  now  he  was  fairly  foiled,  and  the  best  he 
could  do  for  himself  was  to  hurry  away,  which  he  did 
with  all  the  celerity  his  legs  could  command.  In 
another  instant  he  was  out  of  reach,  and  very  soon  out 
of  sight. 

"  Oh  !  it's  Jerry  Kay,  it's  Jerry  Kay  !  "  cried  Cora, 
as  the  Irishman  came  up  to  them.  "  Jerry,  it's  I  — 
Cora  Clandon ;  you  came  just  in  time  ;  we  were  fright- 
ened almost  to  death  !  Come  and  help  Mr.  Acton  !  " 

"  Oh  !  the  grace  uv  God  now  !  and  is  it  yersilf,  Miss 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  65 

Clandon  ?  "  responded  Jerry.  "  And  what  mid  that 
thafe  uv  the  wurld  be  doin'  wid  ye  ?  Luk  at  the  way 
now  he's  kilt  Misther  Acthon  —  the  nischest  young 
man  in  the  city,  that's  allays  had  a  good  wurd  for  me 
and  the  ould  ooman !  If  it  wasn't  the  damn  bad  pair 
uv  ligs  I  have  on  me,  I'd  uv  been  up  to  the  schoun- 
dhrel  and  shlivered  the  brain  out  uv  'im  !  " 

And  here,  poor  old  Jerry  Kay  burst  into  tears  of 
sorrow  and  wrath. 

"  Misther  Acthon,  and  are  ye  much  hurted  now  ?  " 
sobbed  he.  "  Shure  ye  wouldn't  be  goin'  to  die  for  the 
sthroke  of  a  blaggard !  " 

But  Earnest  had  received  an  ugly  blow  near  the  top 
of  his  head,  which  had  stunned  him  for  the  time,  and 
left  a  gash  from  which  the  blood  was  flowing  copiously. 
In  a  short  time,  however,  with  the  assistance  of  Jerry, 
he  was  able  to  rise.  Supported  by  him  on  one  side, 
and  by  Stella  on  the  other,  he  walked  slowly  to  Jerry's 
house,  which  was  near  by.  There  a  bandage  was  ex- 
temporized by  the  "ould  ooman"  and  the  young  ladies, 
the  blood  was  washed  from  his  face,  and  at  Jerry's 
urgent  solicitation,  he  took  a  "  small  smather  uv  whis- 
key." 

*'  Now,  Jerry,"  said  he,  "  if  you  can  get  me  a  car- 
riage, I  will  ride  home.  Miss  Clandon,  if  I  may,  I  will 
ask  you  and  your  friend  to  accompany  me.  The  car- 
riage can  leave  me  at  my  door,  then  carry  you  straight 
to  yours." 

This  proposal  was  at  once  accepted ;  for  Ernest  was 
pale  and  weak,  and  would  be  liable  to  faint  at  any  mo- 
ment on  his  way  home. 

"  Mike,"  said  Jerry,  to  a  boy  about  fourteen  years 

6* 


66  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

old,  who  had  betaken  himself  to  a  corner,  out  of  tho 
way,  —  "  Mike,  git  yersilf  sthraight  dooun  till  the 
daypo,  and  bring  up  a  carriage  —  a  nische  one  d'ye 
mind  ;  and  luk  now,  if  iver  ye  got  a  lickin'  in  yer  life, 
think  of  the  one  ye'll  git  now,  if  ye'r  long  gone." 

Admonished  by  this  very  palpable  suggestion,  Mike 
soon  returned  with  a  carriage. 

"  Say  now,  Misther  Acthon,"  said  Jerry,  after  Earn- 
est and  the  ladies  had  entered  it,  "  may  I  go  dooun  to 
luk  at  ye  to-morry  ?  Shure  I'm  thinkin'  ye  wudn't 
objict." 

"  Object !  my  good  old  friend  ?  "  replied  Earnest, 
"  of  course  not.  Why  should  I  ?  Come  down  by  all 
means,  if  you  should  feel  like  it ;  I  shall  be  especially 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  Ah  ah,  now  !  luk  a'  that !  "  still  continued  Jerry. 
"But  I'm  remembrin'  ye  niver  were  too  proud  —  way 
up  intirely  over  a  poor  man.  Good  luck  t'ye,  Misther 
Acthon ;  God  'Imighty  bless  yersilf  an'  the  darlint 
ladies.  Dthriver,  kape  yer  eyes  roound  aboout  ye ;  for 
ye've  got  the  most  gintlemanly  load  uv  the  sexes  that 
iver  yer  mares  was  forninst." 

Saying  this,  Jerry  bowed  and  scraped  a  still  further 
adieu,  while  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

The  next  morning  The  Ironton  Daily  JPitchforJc  and 
Maker ,  contained  the  following  account  of  the  event. 

"  A  DARING  ATTEMPT  AT  ROBBERY  AND  MURDER. 
A  sad  Catastrophe.  —  Last  evening,  just  at  dusk,  as 
Miss  Cora  Clandon,  a  worthy  and  estimable  young  lady 
of  our  city,  the  daughter  of  Richard  Clandon,  Esq., 
was  walking  along  High  street,  in  company  with  a 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  67 

lady  friend,  whose  name  we  have  not  learned,  they 
were  suddenly  attacked  by  a  ruffian,  supposed  to  be  the 
notorious  Himmer  Gilspe,  who  demanded  her  watch 
and  chain,  threatening  violence  in  case  of  refusal. 

"  With  rare  presence  of  mind,  Miss  Clandon  imme- 
diately placed  her  hands  over  her  watch,  which  is  said 
to  be  a  very  valuable  article,  and  importuned  the 
scoundrel  to  desist. 

"  At  this  moment,  Earnest  Acton,  Esq.,  who  was 
taking  an  evening  walk,  approached  High  street  by  the 
steep,  unfrequented  acclivity  between  Crag  and  Bow- 
dry,  having  selected  that  mode  of  ascending  the  hill, 
as  affording  him  the  most  vigorous  exercise.  Of  course 
he  could  not  be  seen,  even  when  near  the  top  of  the 
acclivity,  by  persons  on  the  upper  side  of  High  street. 
The  intended  robber  deemed  himself  perfectly  secure 
in  his  depredations,  when  suddenly  he  was  knocked 
down  by  a  blow  from  Mr.  Acton.  But  the  young 
gentleman  was  unarmed,  and  was,  besides,  much  fa- 
tigued by  his  exertions  in  climbing  the  hill.  The 
ruffian,  seeing  this,  drew  a  '  billy '  and  a  knife,  striking 
and  stabbing  him  on  the  head  and  neck. 

"  Meanwhile  our  old  friend,  Jerry  Kay,  well  known 
about  Bugsley  Corners  and  the  Grumby  Market,  hear- 
ing the  disturbance  and  cries  of  '  murder ! '  hastened  to 
the  scene,  bearing  in  hand  his  inevitable  *  purty  little 
cane,'  as  he  terms  it,  which  many  who  have  noticed  it, 
will  remember  as  a  knotted  '  shillaly  '  about  the  size  of 
a  heavy  flail.  At  his  appearance  the  thief  ran. 

"  If  the  precious  villian  should  be  detected,  he  will 
probably  be  found  considerably  bruised,  as  apart  from 
the  punishment  inflicted  by  Mr.  Acton,  Miss  Clandon's 


68  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

friend  —  who  by  no  means  contented  herself  with  faint- 
ing—  broke  an  iron-framed  umbrella,  as  we  are  in- 
formed, three  times  across  his  face,  while  he  was  mal- 
treating that  gentleman.  Our  principal  informant 
(Jerry  Kay  himself)  says  he  is  sure  '  she  painted  a 
very  nate  picture  of  Purgatory  about  both  eyes  of  'im.' 
It  is  quite  probable  that  but  for  her  coolness  and  per- 
tinacious courage,  Mr.  Acton  might  have  fared  much 
worse  than  he  did.  As  it  is,  he  was  in  a  critical  condi- 
tion when  we  last  heard  from  him. 

"  Every  effort  should  be  put  forth  to  find  the  detestable 
villain  who  was  the  cause  of  this  sorrowful  calamity, 
and  to  bring  him  to  condign  punishment.  Our  present 
police-force  is  not,  we  think,  exactly  what  it  should  be, 
and  not,  as  we  stated  before  the  last  election,  what  it 
would  be,  if  in  the  hands  of  the  party  we  have  the 
honor  to  represent.  But  we  give  due  notice  that  the 
least  negligence  or  carelessness  in  looking  after  this 
matter,  will  not  be  lightly  criticised  by  the  Pitchfork 
and  Raker" 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  main  points  of  this  account,  as  we  have  seen, 
were  true.  Earnest  Acton,  however,  at  ten 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  was  sitting  up  in  an  easy 
chair,  and  was  pretty  comfortable  for  one  who  had  been 
so  severely  handled  the  previous  night.  He  was  read- 
ing Tlie  Pitchfork  and  Raker,  rather  enjoying  the  arti- 
cle in  reference  to  the  "  daring  attempt  at  robbery," 
etc.,  and  smiling  at  the  remembrance  of  Jerry  Kay, 
when  the  latter  called,  desiring  to  see  him. 

"  Is  he  sittin'  up  and  dthressht  did  ye  say  now  ?  " 
asked  Jerry  of  the  girl  who  went  to  the  door.  "  And 
I  dramed  the  doctor  had  'im  kilt !  Thanks  to  God  ! 
Shure  I'm  thinkin'  ye  may  show  me  up  to  'im  ;  but 
go  an  ax  'imsilf.  Till  'im  its  Jerry  Kay." 

Jerry  was  of  course  invited  in. 

A  few  minutes  afterward,  Stella  and   Cora   called. 

They  said  they  did  not  expect  to  see  Mr.  Acton,  but 
had  heard  conflicting  rumors  regarding  him,  and  wish- 
ing to  learn  in  the  most  direct  manner  how  he  really 
was,  they  had  stopped  to  inquire. 

Earnest  heard  their  voices  from  the  room  in  which 
he  sat  talking  with  Jerry,  and  said,  so  that  they  heard 
him  : 

(69) 


70  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  Request  the  ladies  to  walk  in,  if  they  have  time 
and  the  wish  to  do  so." 

"  You  will  find  here,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile, 
as  he  met  them,  "  both  the  vanquished  opponent  and 
the  conquering  hero ;  for  our  friend,  Jerry,  has  come 
in  to  see  me." 

Their  attention  thus  directed  to  Jerry,  he  arose,  and 
suddenly  dropping  the  upper  half  of  his  body  to  a 
line  nearly  parallel  with  the  floor,  he  made  an  exceed- 
ingly angular  but  very  defefential  bow. 

"  Good  morning  t'yes,  ladies,"  said  he.  "  I  hope  yes 
are  both  will  after  the  runcontry  uv  th'  avenin'.  Mis- 
ther  Acthon,  I'm  thinkin',  is  gittin'  on  fine,  only  he's  a 
little  pale,  like  a  sisther  uv  marcy.  He'll  be  hardy 
agin  in  a  couple  uv  days." 

"  And  how  is  yer  arm  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Stella. 
"  Wasn't  it  some  pursuacliu'  welts  ye  gave  the  thafe 
wid  yer  umbril !  He'll  think  a  wake  was  hild  on  his 
face,  if  he  looks  in  aere  a  glass  this  mornin'." 

Stella  was  slightly  annoyed  at  this  compliment  to  a 
sort  of  prowess  which  she  was  far  from  priding  herself 
upon  ;  but  smiling,  she  answered  Jerry  that  her  arm 
was  still  in  good  condition,  though  she  trusted  that  she 
should  never  be  obliged  to  use  it  again  in  the  manner 
he  alluded  to. 

"I  trust  not,  indeed,"  said  Earnest,  who  had  no- 
ticed her  momentary  annoyance ;  "  although  now  that 
we  have  all  escaped  with  so  little  injury,  I  shall 
scarcely  regret,  in  one  sense,  having  given  you  the 
trouble.  Had  I  been  armed,  as  sometimes  I  am  in  the 
evening,  perhaps  I  should  have  shot  the  man  dead  on 
the  spot.  By  doing  so,  I  should  have  saved  your 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  71 

womanly  delicacy  a  few  twinges  of  vexation  ;  —  for  it 
instinctively  shrinks  from  striking  a  person;  —  but  I 
should  have  had  something  it  may  be  to  disturb  me 
during  my  life.  For  the  old  Scandinavian  fierceness  of 
the  race  shoots  through  our  blood  at  such  a  sight  as 
suddenly  appeared  before  me  last  evening,  and  is  liable, 
for  the  time,  to  deprive  us  of  all  considerateness.  Yet 
I  always  feel  that  if,  by  any  misfortune,  I  should  kill 
even  the  worst  man  on  earth,  the  act  would  cloud  my 
calmer  moments  with  sadness.  The  laws  might  justify 
it,  but  I  fancy  I  should  constantly  see  the  dead  with 
pity  and  anguish." 

"  And  I,  the  divl  a  bit !  "  roared  Jerry  Kay. 
"  Why,  man !  if  ye'd  a  shot  the  thafe,  all  yer  sins  wud 
been  forgiven  ye  for  that !  I  wudn't  mind  crackin'  the 
head  uv  'im  more  nor  a  louse.  Didn't  Miss  Clandon 
till  me  he  said  he  wud  be  wiolent  wid  her  if  she  didn't 
give  up  the  watch  ?  Shure  the  baste  hadn't  a  soul  in 
'im  at  all  at  all :  he  was  the  manest  scut  intirely  that 
iver  unbuttoned  a  lip  to  threaten  a  lady." 

Jerry  had  settled  the  point  to  his  own  satisfaction, 
and  no  one  contradicted  him. 

The  young  ladies  soon  arose  to  go.  After  Cora  had 
invited  Earnest  to  call  on  her  and  Mrs.  Torson,  as  soon 
as  he  should  be  able  to  appear  again  in  the  street,  she 
turned  to  Jerry. 

"  My  good  old  friend,"  said  she,  "  let  me  give  you 
this  ;  "  and  she  tried  to  put  a  gold  eagle  into  his  hand. 

"  Don't  think  I  mean  to  pay  you  for  your  kindness, 
by  any  such  bit  of  money :  you  were  worth  more  to  us 
than  our  gold  can  be  worth  to  you  ;  but  you,  and  your 
wife,  and  the  boy  all  busied  yourselves  for  us ;  so  we 


72  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

want  you  to  get  a  few  little  things  to  recall  the  occa- 
sion, and  to  remind  you  how  much  we  think  of  you." 

At  first  Jerry  withdrew  his  hand.  He  looked  at 
Cora,  then  at  the  piece  of  gold. 

"  Well,  God  bliss  ye,  Miss  Clandon,"  he  finally 
exclaimed,  "  I  know  ye've  got  plinty  more  uv  um,  an' 
I'm  thankful  to  God  for  it.  Ye  raelly  want  to  give  it 
me  now,  I  know.  Yis,  I'll  take  it. 

"  It's  purty  hard,"  he  added,  with  a  very  extended 
smile,  "  for  a  poor  divl  to  shut  his  fisht  agin  a  thing 
like  that.  Shure,  Misther  Acton,  I  know  ye'll  till  me 
the  thrath :  'Tisn't  ungintlemanly  for  me  to  be  takin' 
the  gould-pace,  is  it  ?  " 

Earnest  had  viewed  the  scene,  not  without  interest 
and  emotion.  Cora's  hesitation ;  her  delicacy  in  im- 
pressing upon  this  poor  Irishman,  to  whom  ten  dollars 
was  certainly  a  temptation,  that  she  was  not  paying 
him  for  services,  but  rather  conferring  a  favor  on  her- 
self in  doing  him  a  kindness  ;  his  reluctance  to  receive 
compensation  for  what  he  had  been  so  glad  to  do  ;  his 
innate  perception  of  her  feelings  and  the  right  of  the 
matter :  —  all  this  was  very  touching  to  Earnest. 
When  Jerry  looked  up  to  him  and  made  the  final 
appeal  to  his  judgment,  there  was  a  bright,  pleas- 
ant gleam  on  his  face,  there  was  also  moisture  in  his 
eye. 

"  Take  it,  Jerry,"  said  he ;  "  you  would  hurt  Miss 
Clandon's  feelings  far  more  by  refusing  it,  than  you 
would  please  yourself  by  accepting  it." 

"Well,  now,  I  thought  jusht  that,"  returned  Jerry; 
"  for  that  wud  be  the  way  wid  yersilf." 

"  Ladies,  if  ye'll  hould  on,  the  half  of  a  minit,  I'll 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  73 

till  ye  a  story  about  Misther  Acthon  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  so,  up  to  me  hip. 

"  He  was  fishin'  dooun  beyont  there,  at  the  dock,  in 
a  yawl  that  was  tied  to  a  schooner.  He  got  a  bite,  and 
began  to  pul  up.  It  came  tufer  and  tufer ;  and  when 
the  thing  got  nare  till  the  top  of  the  wather,  it  was  an 
ael  nare  the  lingtli  uv  one  uv  yersilves,  so  it  was. 
That  ael  was  the  divl.  He  was  nigh  till  pulin'  Misther 
Acthon  out  of  the  yawl.  I  was  goin'  by  jusht  thin, 
and  a  nagur.  Me  and  the  nagur  tuk  oursilves  dooup 
into  the  yawl  lively.  Afther  a  while  the  three  of  us 
had  the  ael  in ;  and  he  was  more  nor  the  lingth  uv  the 
breadth  uv  the  yawl.  He  was  like  the  schooner's 
cable.  Well,  well,  wasn't  Misther  Acthon  tickled 
thin  ?  He  hadn't  got  a  cint  of  money  wid  im ;  so 
what  does  he  do  but  give  the  nagur  the  fish-line,  —  a 
moighty  nische  fish-line  it  was  too.  Me,  he  takes 
along  wid  'im  up  to  his  fadther's  house,  and  afther 
measurin'  the  ael  roound  aboout  and  ivery  way,  he 
turns  the  coddy  over  to  me.  I  has  a  wathery  mouth  for 
aels,  and  this  feller  made  a  slammin'  dinner  for  me,  and 
the  ould  ooman,  and  Mike,  and  siveral  uv  the  naburs." 

"  Not  a  very  commendable  business  transaction  on 
my  part ;  was  it,  ladies  ?  "  said  Earnest,  as  the  laughter 
subsided,  which  had  arisen  from  Jerry's  method  of  tell- 
ing the  story,  and  still  more  from  his  gestures. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  so,  after  all,  in  the  highest  sense  of 
all  such  transactions,"  replied  Stella;  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  both  of  her  deep,  pure  eyes  so  full  of  frank 
kindness  and  sympathy,  that  he  felt  the  glance  pene- 
trate and  warm  his  blood,  while  that  beautiful  face,  in 
one  of  its  loveliest  moods,  was  impressed  upon  his  soul. 


74  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"Yes,"  lie  responded,  looking,  in  his  turn,  with  that 
peculiar  smile  of  mingled  sadness,  earnestness,  and  gen- 
tleness, which  is  so  often  the  reflection  of  a  deep,  sensi- 
tive nature; — "yes,  you  are  right;  I  have  not  received 
the  last  instalment  in  the  matter,  I  find,  until  now ; 
but  that  alone  should  compensate  me  a  thousand  times." 

This  was  said  in  so  honest  a  manner,  as  if  every 
word  were  weighed  and  completely  felt ;  with  so  little 
the  appearance  of  any  mere  compliment  of  gallantry ; 
and  with  so  rapid  a  change  of  subject,  as  though  Ear- 
nest's delicate  acuteness  predicted  some  slight  pleasing 
embarrassment  on  her  part,  at  the  turn  he  gave  to  her 
remark  ;  —  that,  although  a  gentle  tinge,  like  a  ray  of 
"the  sunset,  consciously  glowed  on  Stella's  cheek,  her 
heart  found  no  fault ;  she  was  pleased,  and  still  further 
charmed. 

"  Now,  Jerry,"  said  Earnest,  after  the  ladies  had  left 
them,  "  I  am  going  to  take  a  glass  of  light  wine  which 
the  doctor  prescribed  for  this  hour.  If  you  were  not 
an  old  man,  always  accustomed  to  your  '  wee  drop,'  I 
should  hesitate  to  ask  you  to  drink.  I  am  rather  par- 
ticular about  it.  But  as  it  is,  you  must  take  a  glass  of 
wine  with  me,  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  a  glass  of  brandy. 
There  is  some  brandy  in  the  house,  made  from  the 
vineyard  of  a  gentleman  of  this  country  —  a  friend  of 
mine.  It  is  very  nice.  Would  you  rather  have  some 
of  that  ?  " 

"  Thank  yer  honor,"  replied  Jerry,  "  I  will  take  a 
small,  healthy  snifther  uv  that,  if  ye  plase ;  but  I'm  no 
grate  jooudge  uv  th'article.  If  ye  shud  put  the  bist 
glass  uv  brandy  forninst  me,  and  the  worst,  maybe  I 
cudn't  till  ye  the  differ  between  urn,  but  I  cud  dthrink 
both." 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  75 

Jerry  took  his  "  small,  healthy  snifther,"  which  by 
no  means  restrained  his  loquacity.  He  sat  quiet  for  a 
moment,  then  broke  out  thus  : 

"  I  say,  Misther  Acthon,  that's  a  very  nische  lady 
with  the  dark  dhress  —  the  Miss  Thorson,  I  blave  ye 
called  her.  What  a  swate  eye  she  has;  it  almost  milts 
out  uv  her  lied  intirely  on  ye.  Shure  I'm  thinkin'  she 
has  a  punchang  for  you,  as  the  Miss  de  Gusty  says 
aboout  the  roses  she  picks  in  the  gardin." 

"  A  what  ?  "  asked  Earnest. 

"  A  punchang,  shure,"  persisted  Jerry  ;  —  "a  takin' 
to  a  thing  —  a  likin'  of  it." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  understand  !  —  a  penchant,"  laughed 
Earnest. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  any  special  penchant  that 
Mrs.  Torson  may  have  for  me ;  but  I  suspect  she  is  a 
noble,  kind-hearted,  intelligent  young  lady,  and  such  a 
person  almost  always  finds  something  to  like  in  every- 
body. Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Indade  I  do,  thin,"  Jerry  answered ;  "  and  they 
ain't  proud  nather :  they  allays  spakes  to  a  poor  man. 
There's  the  Gineral  —  Gineral  Bull ;  he  allays  siz, 
'  Jerry,  how  ar  ye,'  when  he  mates  me ;  and  he's  one 
of  the  grate  min  intirely  —  boss  of  all  the  sogers  roound 
aboout.  But  there's  more  uv  urn  nor  doesn't  spake 
nor  luk  at  me.  But  they's  the  cods  —  the  small  fish 
wid  very  disfragrant  airs.  The  min  wid  the  high 
^stations,  like  the  Gineral,  and  the  min  wid  the  brains 
in  um  —  like  yersilf,  Misther  Acthon,  savin'  yer  mod- 
esty—  thim's  the  min  that  don't  go  by  me." 

Thus  Jerry  rattled  away  for  several  minutes,  till  be- 
thinking himself  that  perhaps  Earnest  had  been  sitting 


76  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

up  too  long,  and  was  becoming  too  much  fatigued,  he 
snatched  up  his  hat  and  stick,  and  saying  that  it  would 
be  too  bad  to  kill  Mr.  Acton  with  himself  after  saving 
him  from  a  thief,  the  strange  old  man  hurried  away 
into  the  street. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  TT  seems  to  me,  our  dear  young  widow  has  been 

J-  struck  by  something.  What  is  her  dream  all 
about?" 

Such  were  the  words  which  Cora  addressed  to  Stella, 
after  their  interview  with  Earnest  Acton,  and  when 
they  had  proceeded  some  distance  toward  Cora's  home, 
while  Stella  had  remained  silent  and  pensive. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  Stella  answered,  "  how  very  dis- 
similar are  different  people,  and  yet  how  nearly  alike  at 
heart  are  all  of  us  who  are  well  disposed,  and  who  trust 
ourselves  to  our  own  natures." 

"  Yes,"  suggested  Cora,  with  a  little  chuckle,  "  and 
how  much  nicer,  how  much  more  sensitive  and  elegant 
some  young  men  are,  whom  one  meets  occasionally,  than 
most  others  whom  one  sees  every  day." 

"  Perhaps  so,  if  you  will,  my  dear  Cora,"  was  Stella's 
reply ;  "  but  we  must  not  form  such  preferences  too 
hastily." 

"  Oh,  no  !  certainly  not,"  said  Cora ;  "  and  especially 
if  we  are  from  Athens  the  Hub ;  if  we  are  scholarly 
and  profound ;  if  we  are  staid,  dignified,  queenly,  and 
have  arrived  at  the  venerable  age  of  twenty-three.  But 
if  we  should  happen  to  be  myself  now  —  a  pleasant 
7*  (77) 


78  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

body  only  twenty-two,  who  clearly  loves  her  friend,  but 
who  doesn't  think  a  great  deal,  and  whose  mouth  opens 
easily  to  chatter  or  to  kiss,  —  why,  then  we  should  de- 
clare that  we  can't  help  entertaining  preferences  rather 
nimbly  and  speedily;  we  should. own  right  up,  for  in-,, 
stance,  that  we  liked  Charley  Merlow  amazingly,  and 
were  inclined  just  now  to  take  a  friend  of  his  into  our 
heart,  but  generously  forebore  doing  so,  because  we 
thought  the  friend  himself  would  like  a  dear  friend  of 
ours  much  better  than  he  would  like  us." 

"  Child  of  twenty-two,"  retorted  Stella,  with  mock 
gravity,  "  do  you  settle  fates  too,  with  as  much  celerity 
as  you  form  preferences  ?  What  have  I  to  do  with  your 
Charley's  friend  ?  How  do  you  know  that  we  have 
seen  anything  in  special  to  admire  in  each  other  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Why,  bless  you,  I  feel  it.  The 
heart  has  big  eyes  sometimes,  even  when  the  head  isn't 
so  very  spacious.  When  Charley  Merlow  and  I  were 
setting  our  caps  for  each  other,  didn't  he  use  to  look  at 
me  in  the  very  way  I  saw  you  look  at  Mr.  Acton,  and 
the  very  way,  moreover,  in  which  Mr.  Acton  returned 
the  look  ?  Of  course  he  did.  J  suppose  Charley  and  I 
didn't  fully  know  what  we  were  doing  at  first ;  but  we 
found  out,  after  awhile." 

If  Cora  had  thoroughly  understood  Stella,  and  the 
position  in  which  she  had  been  placed  by  Mr.  Torson's 
will,  she  would  not  have  talked  to  her  as  she  was  now 
doing,  partly  in  earnest,  partly  in  jest,  and  partly  to 
afford  herself  the  pleasure  of  referring  to  Charley  Mer- 
low. But  Stella  had  said  as  little  as  possible  concern- 
ing her  husband.  All  that  Cora  knew  about  him,  was 
that  Stella  had  married  him  reluctantly,  that  afterward 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  79 

they  had  lived  together  kindly,  though  not  with  perfect 
congeniality,  and  that  now  Stella  had  discarded  her 
mourning,  as  also  the  frequent  mention  of  his  name. 
She  had  heard  the  will  spoken  of  as  a  strange  one  ; 
but  had  not  learned  the  particulars  of  it. 

At  first  Stella  could  return  badinage  for  badinage  j 
but  as  she  continued  listening  to  her  friend's  playful, 
bantering,  confiding  words,  feeling  that  Cora's  heart 
was  happy  in  its  love  and  trust  of  one  who  seemed 
worthy  of  its  overflowing  affection  ;  that  her  own  heart, 
which  throbbed  with  such  vehement,  impassioned,  ex- 
alted emotions,  had  found  no  rest  for  its  yearnings  ;  that 
now  it  could  scarcely  dare  hope  for  such  rest  in  any 
event ;  —  now,  too,  that  she  had  seen  one  who,  as  she 
acknowledged  to  herself,  caused  the  suggestion  that  her 
youthful  vision  of  love  might  be  a  possibility  in  the 
world:  —  poor  Stella,  with  all  this  in  her  soul,  how 
could  she  suppress  the  single  crystal  drop  that  melted 
through  those  long,  dark  lashes,  suffiising  with  still 
deeper  tenderness  and  beauty  the  look  of  affection  and 
sympathy  which  beamed  from  her  eye  upon  her  joy- 
ous companion. 

Cora  noticed  it,  and  her  playful  smile  was  immedi- 
ately an  exile.  A  troubled  cloud  of  sadness  and  regret 
spread  itself  over  her  face,  and  not  a  trace  of  lightness 
was  left.  But  they  were  near  her  father's  house,  and 
she  did  not  speak  again  until  they  had  reached  her  own 
room,  where  they  went  to  dispose  of  their  street  apparel. 
She  hastily  threw  off  her  own,  then,  going  to  Stella, 
untied  her  bonnet-strings,  drew  off  her  mantle,  and 
putting  an  arm  about  her  friend's  waist,  hastened  into 
the  little  parlor  adjoining,  where,  seating  herself  in  front 


80  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

of  the  cheery  grate,  she  pulled  the  young  widow  down 
into  her  lap. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  you,  my  dear  Stella?"  she 
inquired,  now  just  ready  to  weep.  "  I  am  so  full  of 
nonsense  that  I  am  always  wounding  the  feelings  of 
somebody.  But  I  did  not  mean  anything  by  what  I 
said.  I  should  think  you  would  have  known  the  harm- 
less sound  of  my  rattle-box,  especially  when  I  am  so 
fond  of  you.  I  know  you  are  not  frivolous  and  giddy, 
but  very  thoughtful  and  good.  Was  I  foolish  enough 
to  attribute  to  you,  even  in  a  joke,  any  injustice  to 
memories  of  the  past?  What  was  it,  my  darling 
friend  ?  " 

"Why,  nothing,  Cora,  child,  —  nothing,  at  any  rate, 
worth  wet  eyes ;  so  don't  let  me  see  tears  between  your 
laughing  lids,  even  if  one  foolish  drop  did  fall  from  my 
own.  I  have  but  few  memories  of  the  past  to  trouble 
me  in  the  way  you  were  thinking  of.  I  was  only 
touched  by  your  happiness,  and  was  comparing,  perhaps 
selfishly,  the  fulness  of  your  heart  with  the  void  in  my 
own,  though  Heaven  knows  I  would  not  take  a  single 
joy  from  your  life,  if  by  doing  so  I  could  wreathe  mine 
with  constant  delights.  But  you  are  frank  and  honest, 
my  Cora ;  you  are  sympathizing ;  you  can  be  reticent 
too,  if  you  know  I  wish  it.  I  will  tell  you  a  story  of 
my  past  three  or  four  years,  which  you  are  not  wholly 
acquainted  with.  I  trust  the  good  angels  will  not  let 
me  be  unjust  in  the  very  manner  you  were  fearful  that 
I  shrank  from  being ;  for  I  shall  speak  to  you  of  my 
husband,  —  a  man  whom  I  remember  with  kindness 
only,  not  with  love,  not  even  with  complete  respect." 

Then  she  told  Cora  of  her  marriage ;  of  her  reluct- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  81 

ance  to  it  at  the  beginning;  of  the  wide  difference 
between  Mr.  Torson's  nature  and  tastes  and  her 
own ;  of  her  struggles,  as  a  conscientious  woman,  to 
love  him,  which  only  ended  in  driving  their  souls  still 
farther  apart ;  and  last,  she  gave  the  particulars  of  the 
will.  But  she  told  nothing  of  her  husband's  rudest 
vices,  —  for  there  were  some  such  to  be  locked  forever 
in  her  own  breast ;  she  palliated  some  of  his  harshest 
evident  faults,  and  appeared  to  tremble  lest  any  re- 
vengeful sentiment  should  enter  into  her  statement. 

"  You  see,  Cora,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  "  that  Mr. 
Torson  did  not  mean  to  be  a  very  vicious  man.  I  don't 
know  but  many  a  better  girl  than  I  would  have  been 
content  in  my  position.  He  wished  to  leave  me,  too, 
with  every  material  comfort,  and  his  will  was  largely 
generous  in  that  respect.  But  my  integrity  was  almost 
the  only  one  of  my  qualities  he  would  trust.  It  was 
impossible  for  him  to  understand  me.  Those  of  my 
virtues  that  I  knew  to  be  the  highest  before  God  and 
man,  he  regarded  as  visionary  weaknesses  —  even 
wicked  absurdities.  I  could  look  through  his  mind  and 
comprehend  his  motives,  because  I  stood  above  both,  — 
having  experienced,  as  it  were,  his  characteristics,  in 
my  commonest  and  lowest  moods ;  while  he  could  not 
know  what  his  nature  had  never  reached.  He  was 
honest,  in  the  ordinary  Business  sense ;  he  was  lavish, 
not  to  say  liberal,  of  mere  physical  surroundings, — 
wanting  me  to  have  everything  that  conventionality  re- 
quired ;  but  he  had,  and  could  have,  no  conception  of 
the  demands  of  an  aspiring  soul.  He  was  of  the  earth 
and  was  earthy,  —  a  common  man,  who  had  accumu- 
lated a  third  of  a  million  of  dollars,  and  in  that,  con- 


82  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

sidered  the  great  aim  of  life  accomplished.  He  was  no 
worse  than  a  thousand  others  I  saw  every  day,  —  my 
heart  has  always  acknowledged  it ;  —  and  for  him,  as 
for  all  such,  it  has  never  had  —  at  least  for  more  than 
an  occasional  moment  —  any  feeling  harsher  than  pity. 

"  Well,  I  have  told  you  of  my  husband.  You  know 
something  about  my  own  views,  and  what  I  conceive 
to  be  my  duties.  You  see  the  position  in  which  I  am 
placed  —  virtually  forbidden  to  love ;  —  my  heart  pitted 
against  my  conscience,  with  a  third  of  a  million  for  the 
wager.  If  love  should  win,  I  shall  not  only  be  poor, 
which,  perhaps,  I  could  bear  well  enough,  but  the 
money  will  be  used  to  crucify  conscience  and  duty 
themselves.  I  have  never  loved  ;  but  God  knows  how 
dearly  I  could  love.  You  have  sometimes  attributed 
superiority  of  intellect  to  me.  Others  have  been  kind 
enough  to  do  so.  Some  have  called  me  mental  and 
frigid.  It  is  true,  that  my  heart,  yearning  for  deep, 
full,  responsive  throbs,  baffled  by  the  living,  has  turned 
to  the  dead.  I  could  not  be  the  bride  of  a  beloved, 
for  I  found  no  one  whose  nobleness  forced  me  to  adora- 
tion. So  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  lovers  and  poets 
of.  all  ages  and  all  climes.  Their  sentences  and  songs 
wooed  my  spirit  —  pressed  themselves  to  my  inmost 
life.  They  knew  me.  Our  souls  sympathized  in  truth, 
in  justice,  in  beauty.  Thus  was  a  vacant  place  in  my 
heart  partly  tenanted,  while  thus  it  could  not,  of  course, 
be  wholly  filled. 

"  You  spoke  of  ~$fi\  Acton.  I  was  not  troubled  by 
that.  As  I  have  talked  with  you  so  freely  now,  why 
should  I  hesitate  to  tell  you,  as  far  as  I  know,  the 
impression  I  have  received  from  him  ?  I  don't  love 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  83 

him,  certainly.  How  could  I  so  soon?  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  '  love  at  first  sight.'  A  person's  first  glance,  a 
single  word,  a  tone  of  voice,  may  strike  vividly  and 
pleasurably  upon  some  related  chord  of  our  nature,  and 
oblige  memory  to  reproduce  it  a  hundred  times.  We 
want  to  see  the  glance,  to  hear  the  word  again.  If 
other  properties  correspond  to  this,  and  the  whole  nature 
inclines  to  us,  we  love.  My  heart  would  never  risk  the 
mention  of  love  for  ope  I  had  seen  but  two  or  three 
times.  We  all  have  some  good  phases  \  we  all  have  so 
many  bad  ones ! 

"  Yet  I  will  own  that  Mr.  Acton  has  revived  visions 
of  mine  that  had  almost  faded  away ;  that  I  began  to 
see  vanish  with  considerable  resignation.  Here  is  a 
young  man  who  suggests  to  me,  by  his  presence,  that 
the  earth  could  perhaps  afford  me  the  happiness  of 
pouring  out  my  whole  soul  into  another.  But  by  the 
time  I  have  seen  him  again,  it  may  quite  easily  be, 
that  through  some  one  of  his  words  or  actions,  the  veil 
will  fall  once  more  over  my  eyes,  the  dreams  still  be  life- 
less. And  perhaps  I  ought  to  tremble  if  it  were  not  so." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind,"  cried  Cora,  who  had  listened  to  her  friend,  first 
with  glances  of  sorrowing  sympathy ;  then  with 
flushes  of  indignation  and  scorn,  as  she  gave  the  par- 
ticulars of  Mr.  Torson's  will ;  and  then  with  patient 
silence  while  she  drew  her  inferences  of  a  general  na- 
ture. 

"  It  was  monstrous  to  fetter  you  so  !  How  can  you 
speak  with  a  sort  of  kind,  reasoning  indifference  of  so 
mean  a  man  ?  I  would  have  soaped  the  stairs  to  break 
his  neck !  No,  I  wouldn't,  either  ;  but  I  would  love 


84  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

somebody,  if  I  could,  with  all  my  heart,  now  he  had 
taken  himself  decently  out  of  the  way.  You  needn't 
smile :  I  would,  anyhow !  How  ridiculous  it  was  of 
the  conceited  old  dollar-grab,  to  say  that  no  other  sort 
of  man  than  himself  amounted  to  anything,  or  would 
be  able  to  take  care  of  you  !  That's  all  he  knew  • — 
the  old  stomach  !  I'm  glad  you  didn't  love  him  any 
more  than  you  did.  But  you  shall  Jove  Mr.  Acton 
now,  if  you  like,  or  anybody  but  my  Charley.  Let 
the  money  go  to  the  dogs.  More  can  be  got.  I  shall 
have  plenty,  I  suppose,  and  you  can  have  some  of  that. 
And  if  your  ideas  are  right,  God  will  take  care  of 
them.  How  is  a  big  pile  of  pennies  going  to  outweigh 
Providence  ?  " 

Cora  stopped  to  breathe,  and  laughed  at  her  own 
questions  and  statements.  Stella  could  not  help  joining 
her. 

"  True,  my  dear  Miss  Impetuous,"  she  said,  when 
Cora  was  ready  to  listen  :  "  No  amount  of  money,  no 
mountain  even,  of  present  wrong,  should  at  all  trouble 
our  serene  faith  in  the  ultimate  right.  But  that  is 
scarcely  the  question.  Would  it  be  possible,  in  any 
case,  for  nle  to  do  as  much  by  yielding  to  love,  toward 
performing  the  duties  I  regard  highest  in  life,  as  a 
large  fortune,  hurled  directly  upon  them,  could  do 
against  them  ?  " 

"  Well,"  responded  Cora,  "  I  don't  know :  but  I 
think  God  intended  we  should  enjoy  such  a  dear  bless- 
ing as  love." 

"  Certainly,  Cora ;  He  intends  we  should  enjoy 
every  dear  blessing ;  He  made  us  to  enjoy  ;  but  He 
made  us  to  do  our  duty  first  and  foremost ;  for  that, 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  85 

in  the  end,  is  always  the  sweetest,  the  loftiest  enjoy- 
ment." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so  ;  "  still  insisted  Cora  :  "  but  <i 
body  would  think  that  in  a  case  like  this,  you  would 
be  the  last  to  be  hampered  and  imposed  upon.  You 
value  money  so  lightly ;  it  passes  through  your  hands 
so  easily,  and,  as  I  have  often  thought,  with  a  kind  of 
contemptuous  indifference.  You  know  everything 
best,  my  dear  Stella ;  but  let  me  ask  you  a  question  on 
your  own  ground.  I've  heard  you  speak  with  enthu- 
siasm of  certain  men  in  this  country,  for  instance,  as- 
the  leaders  of  great  reforms.  Now  my  good  papa,  and 
Captain  Bub,  my  brother,  don't  think  much  of  these 
men.  But  you  do,  and  Charley  Merlow  does.  But 
take  one  of  these  notables  —  say  Mr.  Curtis.  Do  you 
think  that  any  sum  of  money,  used  by  common  or  bad 
men  against  the  truths  he  utters  in  his  beautiful  way, 
could  be  at  all  the  measure  of  his  influence  ?  " 

"  Surely  not,  my  sweet  little  Meno,"  answered 
Stella  ;  "  but  what  then  ?  " 

*'  Not  Meno,  if  you  please,"  said  Cora,  with  much 
pretended  dignity  ;  "  for  I  read  somewhere,  the  other 
day,  that  he  was  the  man  that  Socrates  twisted  out  of 
his  sandals  so  neatly  that  he  couldn't  tell  the  meaning 
of  the  very  things  he  had  talked  about  a  hundred 
times.  Let  me  cure  you  of  the  illusion  that  I  am  any 
other  than  Socrates  himself.  You  acknowledge,  then, 
that  no  sum  of  money  could  measure  the  influence  of  a 
great  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Socrates,"  laughed  Stella,  "  you  are  going 
right  at  it  in  your  ancient  method,  I  find." 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  Cora,    "  haven't  I   heard 

8 


86  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

you  say  that  one  of  your  friends,  whom  you  regard  as 
among  the  greatest  minds  of  the  time,  has  often  ac- 
knowledged that  more  than  half  of  his  power  and  per- 
severance came  from  the  heroic  sympathy  and  encour- 
agement lavished  on  him  by  his  wife  ?  You  know  I 
have  heard  you  say  it.  Now,  finally,  you  could  love 
only  a  superior  man,  and  you  know  well  enough  that 
nobody  in  creation  could  hold  such  a  man  up  to  his 
task  of  greatness  and  goodness,  better  than  yourself. 
So,  unless  you  would  cut  a  man's  influence  in  two, 
and  spoil  it  wholly,  by  declaring  that  your  half  in  it 
were  worth  less  than  some  fellow's  money-bag,  I'm 
sure  my  argument  '  has  laid  you  out,'  as  the  boys  say, 
« flat  and  clean.'  " 

"  Precisely,  my  Cora,"  was  Stella's  response ;  "  I 
fancied  I  knew  the  end  you  were  approaching,  and 
have  frequently  thought  of  it  myself.  But  I  should  be 
obliged  to  have  a  great  deal  of  confidence  in  my  own 
worth  before  I  should  dare  avail  myself  of  your  infer- 
ences. 

"  However,  now  that  we  have  finished  arguing,  can 
you  tell  me  anything  more  than  I  have  already  learned 
about  the  young  man  who  was  the  cause  of  the  argu- 
ment ?  What  do  you  know  of  your  Charley's  friend  ? 
I  shall  be  with  you  several  weeks,  and  shall  meet  him. 
I  shall  be  enticed  to  his  acquaintance,  for  the  study  of  a 
marked  human  soul  that  has  come  to  me  differently 
from  others,  if  for  nothing  else.  I  am  interested  in 
him,  and  feel  curious  concerning  his  history.  What 
has  Charley  Merlow  told  you  about  him  ?  " 

Cora  felt,  and  was  determined  to  feel,  that  Stella,  in 
case  her  great,  noble  soul  should  flame  into  passion, 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  87 

would  not  be  called  upon  to  sacrifice  its  fondness,  as 
she  seemed  to  contemplate.  Something  of  this  prepos- 
session might  have  colored  the  account  she  gave  of 
Earnest ;  for  she  spoke  of  him  ardently  and  sincerely, 
though  partly  still  with  the  capricious  pleasantry  in 
which  she  delighted. 


CHAPTER    XL 

"  A  LMOST  all  I  know  about  him,"  she  began, 
-£*-  "*'  Charley  has  told  me ;  but  Charley,  as  you 
have  observed,  is  very  fond  of  him,  and  talks  about 
him  a  great  deal.  They  have  known  each  other  ever 
since  they  were  children.  The  way  they  became  ac- 
quainted was  odd,  and  a  bit  romantic  ;  but  ask  Charley 
to  tell  you  that  part  of  the  story  himself.  You  won't 
have  to  ask  him  but  once.  He  would  spend  the  day, 
any  time,  in  conversing  with  you  about  Earnest. 
They  used  to  live  in  the  same  town,  somewhere  in 
Massachusetts,  —  I  forget  the  name  of  it.  Earnest 
came  here  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  ten  or  eleven 
years  old,  and  afterwards  Charley  came  on  and  stayed 
awhile  with  him,  attending  the  same  school.  Charley 
is  rather  older  than  Earnest,  though  he  looks  younger. 
Earnest's  face  is  so  quiet  and  meditative  ;  —  I  suppose 
that  is  the  reason.  He  has  entirely  changed,  (Charley 
says,  since  he  was  about  fifteen.  Before  that,  he  used 
to  be  full  of  activity  and  sport,  —  not  what  you  would 
cull  a  downright  bad  boy,  but  always  ready  to  run, 
frolic,  be  saucy,  or  fight.  Isn't  it  a  shame  that  little 
boys  all  will  fight  ?  They're  not  half  so  nice  as  little 
girls.  My  brother,  Captain  Bub,  used  to  worry  the 

(88) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  89 

life  out  of  me.  He  would  have  had  a  bloody  nose 
every  day,  if  papa  hadn't  talked  to  him,  and  whipped 
him,  and  shamed  him  constantly.  He  went  into  the 
army,  at  last,  as  it  was.  But  he  has  sobered  down  into 
a  very  pleasant  relation. 

"  Charley  and  Earnest  were  not  a  great  deal  to- 
gether, for  the  few  years  before  they  became  young 
men.  But  they  used  to  correspond  ;  and  at  last  Char- 
ley came  to  Ironton,  and  went  into  business.  I  have 
known  him  a  year,  and  he  has  started  several  times  to 
bring  Earnest  here ;  but  something  has  occurred  to 
prevent,  on  each  occasion.  So  we  have  known  each 
other  well  enough,  have  bowed  as  we  met  in  the  street, 
yet  we  had  hardly  spoken  a  dozen  words  to  each  other, 
until  that  scapegrace  tried  to  steal  my  watch." 

"  Well,"  inquired  Stella,  "  what  has  Earnest  been 
doing,  all  his  life  ?  That,  you  know,  is  one  of  the  first 
questions  we  all  ask  about  each  other.  What  profes- 
sion, or  business,  has  he  been  engaged  in  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  any  profession,"  replied  Cora ;  "  and 
now,  I  believe,  he  isn't  in  any  business.  A  little  while 
Ago,  he  was  with  Mr.  Wether,  a  produce  merchant,  — 
as  a  salesman  and  accountant,  I  suppose.  But  he  had 
a  good  deal  of  leisure,  which  he  occupied  by  reading 
and  hard  study.  Charley  says  he  understands  business 
very  well,  but  has  little  taste  for  it.  Besides,  some  of 
the  most  customary  transactions  connected  with  it,  ap- 
pear to  him  so  hard  and  selfish  as  to  be  almost  dishon- 
est. He  says  that,  particularly  in  speculative  seasons, 
when  he  has  stood  and  regulated  the  price  of  a  product 
more  by  one's  need  than  by  its  real  value,  —  stretching 
the  market  a  little,  if  possible,  —  squeezing  out  the  last 

8* 


90  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

cent,  —  lie  lias  felt  that,  although  pleasing  his  employer 
and  showing  the  smartness  of  a  salesman,  he  was  pretty- 
nearly  picking  a  pocket ;  only  he  was  doing  it  lawfully, 
and  more  dexterously  than  the  coarse  blackleg.  When, 
too,  he  has  seen  Mr.  Wether  selling  a  cargo  of  grain 
or  salt ;  worming  the  price  up  to  the  highest  notch  ; 
declaring  he  would  not  sell  so  low  to  any  other  man, 
and,  in  his  excitement,  meaning  it,  although  he  would 
say  the  same  thing  to  the  next  comer;  —  declaring, 
protesting,  whining  even  in  the  voice  of  an  old  woman, 
all  for  ten  or  twenty  extra  dollars,  on  perhaps  five 
thousand ;  —  then  the  clerk  has  pitied  the  employer, 
who  had  grown  rich  while  his  face  had  grown  narrow 
and  pinched,  and  while  his  soul  had  been  crammed 
into  his  purse. 

"  When  Charley  told  me  this,  I  said  I  didn't  think 
his  friend  had  cause  to  feel  so ;  —  that  it  was  necessary 
for  people  to  have  money,  and,  as  they  couldn't  do 
without  it,  they  must  try  their  best  to  get  it.  Charley 
said  yes,  and  told  me  Earnest  saw  the  fact  as  plainly 
as  anybody ;  that  he  liked  business  men,  and  often 
declared  that  the  very  excess  of  the  accumulative  spirit, 
which  he  deprecated  for  himself,  was  the  means  of 
developing  vast  material  resources  ;  —  levelling  moun- 
tains, filling  up  swamps,  making  corn  grow,  and  com- 
forts increase.  '  You  mustn't  think,'  he  continued, 
'  that  Earnest  despises  any  class  of  men,  or  sort  of 
vocation.  He  says  that  men  are  dependent  on  each 
other  throughout,  and  are  brothers  in  spite  of  them- 
selves ;  that  he  should  be  without  a  coat  and  a  break- 
fast, if  it  were  not  for  some  enterprising  tailor  or 
butcher  among  his  friends.' 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  91 

"  Then  Charley  went  on  to  tell  me  a  lot  of  stuff 
about  its  being  right  for  men  to  do  what  they  think 
right,  until  they  can  take  higher  views  and  so  higher 
grounds  of  action ;  and  about  its  being  right,  in  that 
sense,  for  men  to  do  things  that  Earnest  could  not  do. 
He  told  me  that  I  mustn't  judge  such  a  person  by 
common  rules  ;  for  he  was  rather  a  representative  of  the 
future,  when  men  would  be  better,  than  a  mere  dweller 
in  the  present  time.  Perhaps  I  didn't  quite  understand 
all  these  nice  distinctions.  At  any  rate,  I'm  not  going 
to  risk  getting  into  the  dusk  myself,  by  trying  to  bring 
them  to  the  light  for  you," 

"  But  in  spite  of  himself  and  his  ideas,  Mr.  Acton 
did,  it  seems,  sell  produce  for  Mr.  Wether,  and  keep 
accounts  for  him,"  said  Stella. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Cora ;  "  but  he  never  liked  it, 
Charley  says,  even  at  first,  when  a  mere  boy  ;  though 
he  always  had  the  reputation  of  attending  to  it  con- 
scientiously and  well.  But,  according  to  his  friend  and 
my  oracle,  he  wasn't  made  for  success  in  that  direction. 
He  was  too  thoughtful,  scrupulous,  and  independent. 

"  You  remember  the  passage  in  '  Corinne,'  that  we 
used  to  read  at  school : 

"  '  Les  hommes  frivoles  sont  trtjs-capables  de  deve- 
nir  habiles  dans  la  direction  de  leur  propres  inte*- 
rets  ;  car,  dans  tout  ce  qui  s'appelle  la  science  politique 
de  la  vie  privde,  cornme  de  la  vie  publique,  on  rdussit 
encore  plus  souvent  par  les  quality's  qu'on  n'a  pas,  que 
par  celles  qu'on  possede.  Absence  d'enthousiasme, 
absence  d'opinion,  absence  de  sensibilite,  un  peu  d'esprit 
combind  avec  ce  tre'sor  ndgatif,  et  la  vie  sociale  propre- 
inent  dite,  c'est-a-dire  la  fortune  et  le  rang,  s'acquidrent 
ou  se  maintiennent  assez  bien.' 


92  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  Now  I  missed  my  lesson  once,  on  this  same  choice 
bit  of  French,  and  I've  never  seen  any  truth  or  beauty 
in  it  since  ;  but  I  remember  it  only  too  well.  Charley 
quoted  it  in  reference  to  his  friend ;  and  I  could  antici- 
pate him  at  every  word,  —  not  allowing  him  to  air  his 
scholarship  singly,  you  perceive.  He  declared  that 
nothing  could  be  better  applicable  to  Earnest ;  and  that 
every  syllable  of  it  was  true.  He  said  that  he  met, 
every  day,  a  score  of  his  friends,  who  had  grown  rich 
far  more  from  qualities  which  they  had  not,  than  from 
those  which  they  had ;  that '  absence  of  enthusiasm,  ab- 
sence of  opinion,  absence  of  sensibility,  a  little  smart- 
ness '  —  say  a  little  more  than  the  mere  average  —  not 
only  '  acquire  and  maintain  fortune  and  rank,  but  are 
always  the  absolute  and  necessary  foundation  of  fashion- 
able power  and  respectability. 

" '  For,'  said  he,  '  superiority  is  inevitably  trying  to 
improve  conventionality,  while  mediocrity  struts  satisfied 
with  it,  and  is  active  and  important  in  presenting  and 
insisting  upon  its  forms.' 

"  That  is  the  way  Charley  sermonizes  to  me.  But, 
you  see,  he  knows  a  thing  or  two,  as  well  as  Earnest. 

"  In  his  opinion,  his  friend  has,  of  course,  just  the 
reverse  of  the  dear  Madame  de  Stael's  requisites  for 
fashionable  success.  He  has  enthusiasm,  opinion,  sen- 
sibility, and  almost  no  '  smartness,'  in  the  sense,  at  least, 
of  that  calculative  sharpness  which  thrives  itself  by  the 
suppression  and  injury  of  others. 

"You  have  seen  plainly  enough  that  he  has  some 
strange  ideas.  In  fact,  his  ideas  about  religion,  politics, 
and  everything  are  strange.  But  I  believe,  in  my  heart, 
he  is  a  good  fellow,  or  Charley  wouldn't  think  so  much 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  93 

of  him.  Besides,  my  dear  Stella,  I  can't  help  thinking 
he  is  a  great  deal  like  you.  You  and  he  would  make  a 
right  nice  match,  —  the  most  harmonious  pair  in  exist- 
ence. I'm  sure  you  are  bound  to  like  each  other. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me  now :  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
something  more  about  him. 

"  While  with  Mr.  Wether,  he  grew  from  a  boy  to  a 
man.  His  mind  formed,  and  on  many  subjects  he 
differed  from  his  employer.  I  know  Mr.  Wether.  He 
is  a  kind-hearted,  quick-tempered  man,  well-meaning 
and  honest,  but  old-fashioned,  narrow-minded,  and 
prejudiced.  Earnest  never  talked  much  with  him,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  the  old  gentleman  was  fixed  in  his 
convictions,  and  because  he  thought  it  wasn't  in  good 
taste  to  force  discussion  where  it  would  be  of  no  use. 
But  Mr.  Wether  was  aggressive  in  his  views,  and  often 
very  severe  in  his  comments  upon  men  whom  Earnest 
regarded  as  among  the  greatest  and  best  in  the  world. 
At  such  times,  when  directly  addressed,  he  always  said 
exactly  what  he  thought.  Charley  used  to  ask  him 
why  he  didn't  smooth  the  subject  over,  and  let  it 
drop. 

"  '  Not  at  all,'  he  replied ;  '  when  a  person  asks  me 
a  question,  he  shall  be  answered.  The  honesty  which 
would  preserve  me  from  taking  money  from  a  man's 
till,  would  never  permit  me  to  give  him  a  dishonest 
opinion.  If  I  could  do  one  of  these  things,  I  could  do 
both.' 

"  It  seems  to  me,  he  carried  the  point  too  far ;  but 
that  was  what  he  said. 

"  After  awhile,  Mr.  Wether  began  to  look  on  Earn- 
est as  an  Abolitionist,  then  as  an  Infidel.  The  old 


94  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

gentleman  is  very  religious,  —  a  strong  Presbyterian, 
and  a  constant  reader  of  the  Observer. 

"  By  the  way,  it  was  over  that  newspaper  that  he 
and  Earnest  at  last  fell  completely  out  with  each 
other. 

"  Mr.  Wether  began  a  conversation,  and  quoted  the 
Observer  to  maintain  something  or  other,  when  Earnest 
called  that  journal  itself  in  question.  He  said  it  wasn't 
always  more  scrupulous  than  even  the  Herald.  For 
only  a  few  days  before,  he  had  seen  a  sentence  of  Theo- 
dore Parker's  warped  and  misconstrued  by  it  in  the 
most  dishonest  and  shameful  manner.  Mr.  Wether  de- 
fied him  to  prove  it.  Earnest  found  the  paper,  and 
showed  him  that  it  quoted  Theodore  Parker  as  saying : 
'  Since  my  eighth  year,  I  have  had  no  fear  of  God,'  and 
then  it  took  the  text:  'the  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the 
beginning  of  wisdom,'  and  expatiated  on  Theodore 
Parker's  infidelity  and  wickedness. 

" '  Well,  now,'  said  Earnest, '  hear  the  whole  sentence 
as  it  is :  —  Since  my  eighth  year  I  have  had  no  fear  of 
Grod,  only  an  ever  greatening  love  and  trust.  Your 
paper,  Mr.  Wether,  cut  a  sentence  in  two,  and  pilfered 
half  of  it  to  defame  a  great  man.' 

"  This  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Wether.  He  couldn't 
see  anything  wrong  on  the  part  of  his  theological 
weekly,  but  he  was  very  indignant  at  Earnest. 

"  A  few  weeks  afterwards  it  was  whispered-,  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Ladies'  Sewing  Society  of  the  reverend 
Mr.  Defogy's  church  (Mr.  Wether  is  a  member  of  it), 
that  the  young  *  infidel  and  abolitionist,'  Earnest  Acton, 
had  been  tolerated  quite  long  enough  by  his  employer, 
and  that,  in  another  month,  his  place  was  to  be  occupied 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  95 

by  a  more  pious  and  useful  member  of  society.  It  was 
Deacon  Jewer,  of  their  own  church.  Deacon  Jewer  was 
twenty  years  older  than  Earnest,  and  had  himself  been 
a  merchant.  But  fire  and  flood  had  suddenly  broken 
him  down. 

" '  What  can  be  done  for  him  ?  '  asked  one  of  the 
Greeds  —  his  particular  friends  —  and  Mrs.  Crutch 
and  Dea.  Longswell,  at  a  circle  held  two  or  three 
weeks  before  the  one  that  I  spoke  of. 

" '  Perhaps  Mr.  Wether  could  be  persuaded  to 
change  assistants,'  suggested  another  of  the  Greeds. 

"  '  What  a  fortunate  suggestion,'  said  Mrs.  Crutch  ; 
*  and  undoubtedly  it  would  be  a  pious  duty  to  bring 
about  such  a  change.  I  have  heard  sad  reports  about 
that  fellow  Acton ;  and  they  say  lie  hasn't  any  rever- 
ence for  God,  or  respect  for  good  people.  He  told 
Mrs.  Orter,  the  other  day,  that  I  was  a  woman  who 
meant  well  enough,  but  was  a  busy-body  and  a  gossip, 
and  that  my  superior  righteousness  was  all  in  my  eye. 
What  a  vulgar  expression  wasn't  it  ?  and  everybody 
knows  that  I  never  gossip,  but  only  say  what  comes 
into  my  head,  and  what  is  on  everybody's  tongue.  I 
think  we  had  better  use  our  exertions  for  Deacon 
Jewer.  I  know  Mrs.  Wether,  very  well :  she  is  an 
intimate  friend  of  mine.  She  is  veiy  partial  to  Mrs. 
Jewer  too.  She  has  much  influence  over  her  hus- 
band :  some  say,  in  fact,  that  she  wears  the Well,  I 

don't  like  to  use  every  common  phrase  that  we  hear  in 
the  wicked  world  ;  but  I  have  often  been  told  that  she 
manages  matters  much  in  her  own  way.' 

"  O  Stella !   I  thought  I  should  die  laughing,  when 


96  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

Charley  told  me  all  this,  and  imitated  the  different 
persons,  some  of  whom  I  knew  very  well." 

"  But  how  did  the  affair  terminate  ?  "  asked  Stella. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Cora,  the  conversations  at  the  Sewing 
Circles  were  of  course  repeated,  and  it  wasn't  long  be- 
fore the  reports  came  round  to  Earnest.  He  went  im- 
mediately to  Mr.  Wether,  stated  their  substance,  and 
asked  if  it  was  true.  Pie  thought,  if  so,  he  ought  to 
have  been  informed  of  it  as  soon  as  the  old  ladies 
from  whom  he  had  indirectly  heard.  Yet  he  had  few 
doubts  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Wether  coughed  a  few 
times,  tugged  away  at  the  muscles  of  his  throat,  and 
finally  said  :  '  Yes,  he  had  thought  it  best  to  make  a 
change.'  Earnest  found  no  fault ;  and  Deacon  Jewer 
soon  presented  himself. 

"  Some  of  Earnest's  friends  called  him  foolish,  —  al- 
together too  docile  and  easy. 

" '  Put  the  accounts  into  a  fog,'  said  one  or  two  of 
them  :  '  make  everything  as  hard  as  possible.' 

" '  No  indeed,'  said  Earnest ;  '  I  have  not  been 
treated  quite  after  my  own  heart,  as  no  breath  of  fault 
or  warning  ever  came  to  me.  But  what  of  that  ? 
Men  must  think  and  act  according  to  their  light,  Mr. 
Wether  as  well  as  I.  I  am  not  docile  and  easy,  but 
tough  and  heady.  I  don't  think  that  a  single  trader, 
or  a  church-full  of  his  goodish  friends,  can  be  a  feather 
in  my  path ;  especially  if  God  has  given  me  anything 
worth  doing  on  his  earth.  And  if  not,  what  matter 
little  circumstances  of  this  kind,  one  way  or  the 
other  ? ? 

"  That  was  an  odd  view  to  take,  wasn't  it,  Stella  ? 
It  seems  to  me,  Earnest  has  no  appreciation  of  the 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  97 

events  and  interests  which  make  up  the  life  of  our 
kindly,  good  and  bad,  every-day  people  of  the  world ; 
but  looks  so  intently  upon  the  great  that  he  forgets 
there  is  a  common  and  a  little. 

"But  Charlotte  Bronte  says  something  like  that,  of 
one  of  her  characters  in  4  Jane  Eyre,'  doesn't  she  ? 

"  At  any  rate,  I  don't  altogether  like  such  people. 
Charley  suits  me  much  better  than  Earnest  would. 
That's  fortunate  for  you,  my  lady :  who  knows  but  / 
might  get  him,  if  I  should  try  ? 

"  The  very  indignation  he  felt  over  the  affair  I've 
been  telling  you  about,  seemed  only  an  indignation  of 
the  head.  He  disliked  it  because  he  thought  it  ought 
to  be  disliked :  scarcely  more  because  he  had  been  its 
victim,  than  as  though  he  hadn't  been  at  all  interested 
in  it.  Here's  philosophy  for  you,  perhaps,  —  mental 
power,  with  other  '  lofty  tumbling,'  —  but  where's  the 
flesh  and  blood  ? 

"  No,  positively  ;  I  wouldn't  have  him.  I  should 
find,  some  fine  morning,  that  the  man  had  dissected 
himself,  to  ascertain  or  confirm  some  theory  or  other. 

"  Mr.  Wether  he  regards  with  no  unfriendly  feeling, 
but  merely  as  one  more  specimen  of  the  genus  homo,  to 
be  encountered  thankfully,  considered  attentively,  then 
shelved  in  his  cabinet.  The  same  with  Deacon  Jewer. 
To  Earnest,  the  Deacon,  too,  is  merely  pictorial,  —  re- 
garded as  part  of  a  scenic  effect ;  though  he  had  some 
reason  to  disrelish  him  before  they  came  directly  in 
each  other's  way. 

"  He  laughed  with  Charley,  a  while  since,  and  told 
him  the  Deacon  would  be  a  far  more  valuable  employ^ 
than  himself,  being  sure  to  save  every  penny,  which  he 

9 


98  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

knew  how  to  value  above  all  tilings ;  and  that  his 
efforts,  indeed,  had  already  been  praiseworthy  as  an 
agent  for  others. 

"  It  appears  that,  several  years  ago,  a  pew  in  Mr. 
Defogy's  church  fell  into  the  hands  of  Earnest's  father, 
for  some  debt,  or  through  some  business  transaction, 
and  was  estimated  to  be  worth  about  a  hundred  dol- 
lars. The  old  gentleman  Acton  is  quiet  and  easy; 
and  believing,  as  Charley  says,  less  in  theology  and 
more  in  religion,  than  Mr.  Defogy  and  his  congrega- 
tion, he  seldom  used  the  pew  himself,  or  was  present 
by  the  proxy  of  any  member  of  his  family.  So  Dea- 
con Jewer,  Deacon  Longswell,  and  the  other  trustees 
let  the  pew  and  pocketed  the  proceeds ;  — '  for  the  Lord, 
of  course,'  added  Earnest ;  '  for  no  one  ever  supposed 
they  did  it  for  themselves.' 

"  The  paternal  Acton,  hearing  of  the  disposal  of  his 
pew,  made  no  objection  to  the  result,  but  disliked  the 
method.  The  easy  man  felt  as  though  there  would 
have  been  some  propriety  in  consulting  him  in  the 
matter.  He  was  content  that  they  should  use  the  pew 
for  the  occupancy  of  strangers  ;  he  said  that  he  would 
give  it  to  the  church  right  out,  if  he  could  afford  to  do 
so ;  for,  although  Mr.  Defogy's  preaching  wasn't  very 
high,  nor  wholly  Christian,  still  his  church  and  his 
sermons  did  much  good,  by  holding  up  even  to  their 
standard,  certain  men  who  wouldn't  believe  in  any- 
thing better,  and  who  would  doubtless  be  worse  than 
they  were,  if  they  couldn't  believe  in  these.  But  he 
said  he  couldn't  give  the  pew  absolutely  away ;  and  as 
the  trustees  had  taken  it  to  themselves  to  let,  he 
wished  them  to  have  a  legitimate  title  to  it,  and  would 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  99 

sell  it  to  them  for  fifty  dollars,  half  its  estimated  value. 
The  matter  was  referred  to  Deacon  Jewer,  and  he 
offered  fifteen. 

"  '  Yes  ! '  exclaimed  Earnest,  '  if  I  were  the  Lord, 
and  would  own  that  church,  I  would  certainly  displace 
any  such  individual  as  I  am  myself  now  conscious  of 
being,  for  the  sake  of  having  Deacon  Jewer  attend  to 
my  affairs.  How,  then,  can  I  blame  Mr.  Wether  for 
wanting  so  valuable  a  person  ?  ' 

"  It  was  horrible  in  him  to  say  so,  wasn't  it,  Stella  ? 
Yet  Charley  persists  in  telling  me  that  his  friend  has 
more  real,  sensible  reverence  for  God,  than  Mr.  De- 
fogy's  whole  assembly  have. 

"  Now,  Stella,  I've  told  you  almost  all  I  know  about 
the  man  you're  going  to  break  your  heart  over ;  and 
the  bell  has  just  been  touched  for  dinner.  Let's  go 
down.  Pa  will  wait  for  us  at  table." 

Thus  Cora  finished,  or  rather  broke  off,  her  chatty, 
rambling  account  of  Earnest  Acton,  and  she  and 
Stella,  with  their  arms  around  each  other,  went  to  join 
Mr.  Clandon  in  his  dining-room. 


• 


CHAPTER    XII. 

IN  the  evening  Charley  Merlow  called.  He  had  just 
come  from  Earnest,  he  said,  who  was  quite  as 
well  as  when  the  ladies  had  seen  him  in  the  morning, 
and  would  be  out  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  Then,"  Charley  continued,  "  I  shall  bring  him 
here.  We  were  coming  last  night ;  but  the  High- 
street  adventure  spoiled  our  plan.  How  glad  I  am, 
Cora,  that  neither  you  nor  Mrs.  Torson  sustained  any 
injury  from  that  rascal  Gilspe,  or  whoever  he  is." 

"And  I  am  quite  as  much  delighted,"  said  Stella, 
"  that  your  kind  friend  fared  no  worse  than  he  did.  Cora 
and  I  have  been  speaking  of  him  to-day,  and  I  already 
know  him  sufficiently  well  to  appreciate  many  reasons 
for  your  attachment  to  him." 

"  As  for  Earnest,"  replied  Charley,  "  he  takes  the 
matter  so  complacently,  pitying  himself  so  little,  that  I 
may  as  well  do  the  same.  He  regards  the  occurrence 
as  one  more  item  of  experience  ;  the  thief,  as  an  indi- 
vidual who  aided  him  to  know  from  the  fact  itself,  how 
indignation  rises  against  villainy,  and  how  pleasant  it  is 
to  thwart  a  ruffian  ;  his  pains  he  watches,  to  see  what 
effect  they  have  on  his  moods ;  .and  if  he  should  be 
disfigured,  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  scrutinize  the  scars, 

(100) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  101 

to  ascertain  how  sucli  things  appeal  to  personal  vanity. 
So  you  perceive  he  is  occupied  and  content  in  his  mis- 
fortune. But  don't  think  I  have  for  a  friend,  a  man 
without  a  heart.  He  acknowledges  the  best  of  the  oc- 
casion is,  that  he  has  made  two  warm  friends,  at  first 
sight,  by  a  condensation  of  events. 

"  'A  man  can  afford  to  be  knocked  down,  and  carry 
an  inch  or  so  of  scars  for  that,'  as  he  said  to  me  just 
before  I  left  him. 

"  '  Moreover,'  he  added,  '  these  two  friends  are  both 
very  beautiful  and  noble  examples  of  our  dear  humanity ; 
and  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  one  of  them  is  quite  the 
loftiest  woman  I  have  seen  for  many  a  day.' 

"  Now,  Cora,  if  Earnest  had  said  that  of  you,  I  should 
have  been  jealous  ;  so,  Mrs.  Torson  —  I  beg  your  par- 
don —  I  ventured  to  think  he  referred  to  you." 

Stella  could  not  help  smiling,  and  even  blushing,  with 
just  perceptible  confusion  ;  and  Charley  felt  that  she  too 
was  "penetrable  stuff." 

If,  on  his  return  from  hearing  Earnest's  poem,  he 
had  been  slightly  surprised  and  startled  by  Stella,  now 
he  was  determined  to  be  completely  at  his  ease.  He 
had  not  been  provoked  at  her,  but  piqued  with  himself, 
at  that  time ;  and  he  intended  to  go  to  the  other 
extreme,  being  almost  saucy,  rather  than  at  all  discon- 
certed again,  especially  in  the  presence  of  Cora. 

"  I  have  been  told  by  Cora,  as  well  as  by  yourself," 
said  Stella,  taking  up  the  cue  of  the  conversation  a  short 
distance  back,  "  that  Mr.  Acton  is  what  they  term 
*  philosophical,'  —  considering  whatever  happens  to  him, 
good  or  bad,  as  a  contribution  to  his  knowledge  and 
advancement.  I,  too,  am  a  good  deal  interested  in 
9* 


102  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

such  views  of  the  world,  and  as  much  so  in  those  who 
entertain  them.  You  told  me,  the  other  evening,  that 
your  friend  had  been  favored  with  a  somewhat  extra- 
ordinary inward  experience.  Cora  has  detailed  for  me, 
some  of  the  facts  of  his  external  life.  You  have  known 
him  from  childhood.  May  I  ask  you  to  tell  me,  by 
and  by,  or  whenever  you  please,  something  more  about 
him  ?  We  shall  meet,  now  and  then,  I  presume,  while 
I  am  in  your  city.  I  always  like  to  know  my  friends, 
when  I  can,  before  actually  coming  in  contact  with 
them.  It  gives  one  the  advantage,  perhaps,  of  a 
speedier  intimacy,  and  is  certainly  very  pleasant.  You 
will  not,  I  am  sure,  be  surprised  at  my  request,  or  look 
upon  it  as  causing  you  too  much  trouble,  when  it  refers 
to  one  you  have  commended  so  highly,  and  spoken  of 
with  so  much  interest." 

Charley  Merlow  was  appeased  and  happy  in  an 
instant.  Stella's  kind  smile ;  her  frankness  and  sim- 
plicity; her  freedom  from  any  intention  of  being 
imposing,  —  her  care  not  to  make  stricken  subjects, 
but  happy  companions,  —  which  he  could  not  but 
perceive,  in  spite  of  his  own  accidental  moment*of  con- 
fusion ;  and  still  more,  her  acknowledged  interest  in  his 
chosen  friend  :  —  drew  Charley  directly  into  the  circle 
of  her  sympathies,  making  him  heartily  ashamed  of  the 
suggestion  of  pertness  in  her  presence.  She  was  so  far 
above  it,  that  Tie  must  not  sink  to  its  level. 

He  said  that  the  most  important  portions  of  Earnest's 
experience,  —  his  revolutions  and  successions  of  thought 
and  feeling,  —  he  should  prefer  to  have  his  friend  state 
for  himself. 

"  I  have  travelled  so  often,"  said  he,  "  or  at  least 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  103 

attempted  to  travel  in  the  orbit  of  Earnest's  mind,  that 
I  might  possibly  draw  a  tolerable  picture  of  it.  But  I 
incline  to  dread  the  task.  Few  things,  however,  would 
be  more  agreeable  to  me,  than  to  recount  all  that  I  can 
do  justice  to.  He  has  been  my  friend  almost  from 
infancy.  If  some  facts  of  his  childish  and  youthful  days, 
with  what  he  thinks  of  them,  would  be  interesting  to 
you,  nothing  would  suit  me  better  than  to  begin  the 
recital  of  them  as  soon  as  you  like.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  tell  you  the  rest  himself.  He  likes  very  much  to 
talk  in  that  strain,  as  he  deems  his  perceptions  and 
emotions,  his  convulsions,  his  '  regenerations,'  as  he 
terms  them,  largely  expressive  and  confirmatory  of  the 
present  epoch  in  the  world's  history.  It  will  be  easy 
enough  to  draw  him  out.  When  shall  I  commence  my 
part?  — Now?" 

"  Bless  me  !  no,  not  yet !  "  exclaimed  Cora ;  "  I  have 
been  discoursing  all  day  myself;  and  now  you'll  dis- 
course all  night.  But  don't  be  frightened :  I  won't 
stop  you  but  a  minute,  just  to  place  myself  in  position 
where  I  can  be  easy,  and  enjoy  my  share  of  the  exhi- 
bition."- 

So  saying,  she  sat  down  on  the  tete-a-tete,  and, 
taking  Charley's  hand,  put  his  arm  around  her  waist. 

"  Now  the  other  hand  and  arm  you  may  have  for 
gestures,  my  good  fellow,"  she  said,  with  a  shrewd  smile  ; 
"  but  this  set,  please  bear  in  mind,  is  reserved  for  me, 
these  fine  evenings.  Be  perfectly  quiet  now,  perfectly 
unabashed.  If  a  couple  of  young  people  think  a  good 
deal  of  each  other,  and  my  dear,  deep,  wonderful  Stella 
can't  comprehend  it,  what's  the  use  of  all  her  Plato  and 
the  other  mighties  ?  But  it  won't  trouble  her,  I  assure 


104  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

you.  I  couldn't  help  telling  her  I  thought  you  a  very 
sweet  young  man.  Now  see  that  you  act  like  one,  and 
go  straight  on  with  your  sermon." 

What  could  Charley  Merlow  do,  but  smile,  in  his 
turn,  take  up  the  small  caressive  hand  which  rested 
partly  on  his  knee,  kiss  it,  and  proceed  ?  For  he  was 
a  sensible  person  of  twenty-six. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  TTTHBN  I  first  saw  Earnest,"  Charley  began,  "  he 
»  »  was  only  four  years  old.  His  home  was  just  out 
of  the  village  of  Laurel,  twenty  miles  from  Boston.  I 
was  a  year  older  than  he.  My  father  had  recently  moved 
from  another  part  of  New  England,  and  had  settled 
with  his  family  in  that  village.  He  started  from  our 
house,  one  pleasant  summer  evening,  an  hour  before 
dark,  to  take  a  walk.  I  asked,  as  usual,  to  go  too.  He 
seldom  refused  me.  I  trotted  along  at  his  side,  and  he 
walked  out  of  the  village,  on  the  road  to  Boston.  We 
passed  the  house  of  Alger  Acton  —  Earnest's  father  — 
and  having  proceeded  a  short  distance  beyond  it,  were 
returning,  when  we  saw  coming  down  the  road  toward 
us,  a  high-spirited  white  horse,  of  Arabian  mould,  draw- 
ing a  light  single  carriage,  in  which  were  two  children. 
They  were  very  young,  the  smallest  being  scarcely  more 
than  an  infant.  The  other  seemed  a  year  or  two  older. 
He  sat  up  straight  and  important,  holding  the  reins. 
The  horse  quickened  his  trot,  and  approached  us  faster 
and  faster.  My  father  felt  assured  that  something  was 
wrong.  He  scanned  the  horse  quickly,  then  the  chil- 
dren, and  as  they  came  up,  he  stepped  in  front  of  the 
horse,  spoke  to  him,  and  stopped  him. 

(105) 


106  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

« '  My  young  friends,'  he  asked,  '  where  are  you 
going  with  this  large  fiery  horse  ? ' 

" '  Just  to  take  a  little  ride,  sir,'  replied  the  oldest 
child. 

"  '  What  is  your  name,'  continued  my  father. 

"  '  Earnest  Acton,  sir ;  I  live  in  the  first  house  back 
there.' 

"  '  Well,  how  old  are  you,  my  bright  young  horse- 
man?' 

"  '  I'm  four  years  old,  sir,  and  my  cousin  D^ty  Tetson 
here,  is  two  and  a  half.' 

"  My  good  father  was  sure  he  had  made  no  mistake 
in  stopping  this  precocious  party. 

"  We  heard,  now,  another  voice  on  the  road,  and, 
in  an  instant,  a  middle-aged,  blue-eyed  man,  with  a 
look  of  vexation,  humor,  and  gratitude  commingled  on 
his  face,  was  added  to  the  group.  He  glanced  at  the 
children,  at  the  horse,  then  at  my  father. 

"  '  I  thank  you,  sir,'  he  said,  '  for  taking  the  respon- 
sibility to  check  the  pleasures  of  these  hopefuls.  The 
eldest  is  my  son  ;  the  other  is  my  nephew.  They  were 
in  a  fair  way  to  be  killed  in  a  very  few  minutes.  The 
least  flourish  of  the  whip  over  that  horse,  would  have 
been  their  destruction.  I  allow  no  one  to  drive  him 
but  myself.' 

"  The  affair  was  explained  to  us.  Mr.  Acton  had 
returned,  a  few  minutes  before,  from  a  drive  to  a  neigh- 
boring village.  He  had  left  the  horse  fastened  near 
his  barn,  and  had  entered  the  house.  The  little  boys 
were  together  near  by.  When  he  had  disappeared, 
Earnest  had  proposed  to  Doty  that  they  should  take  a 
ride.  Earnest  said  he  could  drive,  of  course  he  could. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  107 

He  helped  Doty  into  the  carriage,  unhitched  the  horse, 
and  climbed  in  himself.  The  horse,  without  much 
guidance,  turned  the  vehicle  round,  and  started  off  on 
the  turnpike,  toward  Boston. 

"  But  my  father  had  interfered  with  this  proceeding. 

"  Earnest  was  directed  to  get  out  of  the  carriage, 
and  walk  hcrme.  Mr.  Acton  permitted  Doty  to  ride 
back  to  the  house  with  him.  But  Earnest  was  in  dis- 
grace. He  started  along  the  road  with  his  head  down. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  however,  I  had  made  a  hero  of 
him.  Such  a  little  fellow,  driving  that  big  horse,  in  so 
much  danger,  yet  perfectly  confident,  was  surely  worth 
knowing.  I  must  make  him  my  friend. 

"  Well,  said  I,  going  up  to  him,  you  brought  the 
horse  along  pretty  well,  as  far  as  you  came,  anyhow. 

"  My  opinion  seemed  partly  to  dispel  his  shame. 
We  walked  together,  chatting,  until  we  reached  his 
father's  house ;  then  my  father  and  I  proceeded  home. 

But  Earnest  and  I  knew  each  other ;  we  had  come 
to  a  good  understanding,  and  were  to  be  friends. 

"  But  the  particulars  of  our  attachment,  during  the 
next  ten  years,  the  actions  of  my  friend,  a  mere  child, 
though  no  doubt  interesting  to  ourselves,  at  the  time, 
could  hardly  be  entertaining  to  others. 

"  When  he  was  ten  years  old,  his  father  moved, 
with  the  family,  here  to  Ironton.  Earnest  was  thus 
torn  away  from  me,  and  for  four  years  I  saw  him  only 
twice.  But  on  parting,  we  promised  to  remain  friends 
forever.  We  frequently  wrote  to  each  other.  When 
he  had  grown  to  be  a  fine  fellow  of  fourteen,  I  visited 
him,  and  we  attended  the  same  school  for  a  year. 
During  the  year,  several  little  incidents  which  the 


108  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

school-boys  regarded  exciting,  occurred  in  Earnest's 
life,  and  were  impressed  upon  my  memory.  Do  you 
think  it  would  be  worth  while  to  recount  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Stella,  "  let  us  have  them." 

"  Yes,"  echoed  Cora,  with  a  wink  at  Stella,  "  if  I 
must  listen,  I  like  to  hear  about  people  before  they 
grow  to  be  so  big  and  stupid,  that  when  you  continue 
their  history,  no  one  can  believe  or  understand  it." 

Charley  proceeded. 

*'  Our  instructor  was  Mr.  Tome. 

" '  Earnest  Acton,'  said  he,  one  day  as  the  boys 
came  in  from  recess,  — '  Earnest  Acton,  come  here. 
What  did  you  kick  Henry  Logbun  for,  from  one  end 
of  the  yard  to  the  other,  as  I  saw  you  do  just  now  ?  ' 

"  '  I  kicked  him  a  few  times,  sir,  to  show  him  what 
I  thought  of  tell-tales ;  but  I  didn't  hurt  him  much.' 

"  Such  was  the  question  that  Mr.  Tome  askecf,  and 
such  the  answer  he  received. 

"  Earnest  was  called  up  before  his  teacher,  and 
Henry  Logbun  was  told  to  stand  at  his  side. 

"  Logbun  was  older  than  Earnest,  and  was  taller  and 
stouter.  He  was  a  dull,  heavy  boy,  remiss  in  his 
studies,  and  clumsy  in  play.  He  had  acted  the  part 
of  an  informer  against  Doty  Tetson,  Earnest's  cousin  — 
the  little  fellow  that  was  riding  with  him  on  the  day 
our  acquaintance  began.  They  had  lived  together 
ever  since,  and  were  like  brothers. 

"  Doty  was  a  favorite.  He  was  now  twelve  years 
old.  He  was  loved  by  Earnest,  loved  by  all  others. 
He  was  crammed  so  full  of  fun  that  no  amount  of  re- 
pression could  quite  hold  it.  If  he  laughed  aloud,  or 
if  his  chubby  mouth  took  to  whistling,  it  was  as 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  109 

nearly  a  matter  of  spontaneous  combustion  as  could 
possibly  occur,  where  the  tempering  waters  of  free-will 
were  supposed  to  be  bottled  with  the  qualities  which 
caused  the  explosion. 

"  Doty  Tetson  whistled.  Mr.  Tome  knew  well 
enough  it  was  Doty,  and  no  one  else ;  but  he  turned 
round,  with  severe  dignity,  desiring  to  know  who  had 
made  that  noise. 

"  The  many  blank  faces  which  met  his  inquiry,  the 
many  surprised,  wandering  eyes,  turned  eveiy  way  but 
the  right  one,  assured  him  unmistakably,  that  his 
scholars  had  all  been  wholly  devoted  to  their  books,  at 
just  that  important  juncture,  and  couldn't  possibly  give 
him  satisfactory  information. 

"  Earnest  sat  directly  behind  Doty ;  but  when  Mr. 
Tome  spoke,  he  was  very  busy  with  his  lesson,  or  ap- 
peared to  be  so.  The  expression  of  his  face,  if  any  in- 
ference could  be  drawn  from  it,  showed  that  the  whole 
affair,  the  whistling  and  the  investigation  of  it,  was  a 
matter  entirely  beneath  his  smallest  attention. 

"  Mr.  Tome  passed  him  by  without  a  word.  He 
knew  that  if  directly  questioned,  Earnest  would  not  lie  ; 
he  would  flatly  refuse  to  answer,  taking  the  conse- 
quences. This  would  be  a  point  of  honor  with  him. 

"  Besides,  Mr.  Tome  didn't  really  desire  to  be  told 
that  Doty  Tetson  was  a  culprit  who,  as  a  matter  of  ex- 
ample at  least,  deserved  the  rod.  In  his  heart  he 
didn't  want  to  punish  the  little  fellow.  But  his  school 
must  be  kept  quiet  and  orderly.  It  wouldn't  do  to  ig- 
nore a  case  of  plain,  round,  palpable  whistling.  So 
he  repeated  his  question. 

"  *  Who  made  that  noise  ?  ' 
10 


110  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  If  no  one  had  answered  it,  this  time,  he  would 
have  soundly  rapped  some  bench  near  his  hand,  then, 
holding  up  the  ruler,  would  have  reminded  the  boys  of 
what  would  be  the  fate  of  him  who  should  again  trans- 
gress. 

"  This  was  one  of  his  methods  of  government  that 
his  brightest  scholars  had  long  since  discovered,  and 
made  application  of. 

"  But  dull  Henry  Logbun  had  not.  Trembling, 
and  at  the  same  time  grinning,  he  whined  out : 

"  '  It  was  Doty  Tetson,  sir.' 

"  «  Doty  Tetson,  was  it  ?  '  replied  Mr.  Tome.  '  Well, 
Logbun,  sit  up  in  your  seat !  stop  your  laughing  imme- 
diately !  I  will  have  nothing  of  the  kind.'  And  down 
went  the  ruler  across  Logbun's  fat  shoulders. 

"  He  screamed,  then  whimpered  for  a  moment,  and 
as  soon  as  Mr.  Tome  turned  away,  made  a  face  at 
him. 

"  Earnest  saw  it,  and  a  word  from  him  would  have 
insured  Henry  another  and  a  heartier  admonition  of  the 
rod.  He  said  nothing,  however,  but,  as  Doty  Tetson 
followed  Mr.  Tome  out  on  the  floor,  in  front  of  the 
benches,  there  to  be  feruled,  Earnest  looked  savagely 
at  the  tell-tale,  shook  his  fist  at  him,  and  pointed  to  the 
grounds  connected  with  the  building. 

"  This  was  plainly  a  threat.  What  it  signified,  ap- 
peared at  recess,  when,  as  Earnest  admitted,  he  kicked 
Henry  a  few  times,  but  without  hurting  him  much. 

"  Then  Earnest  himself  held  out  his  hand,  and  took 
half  a  dozen  hard,  conscientious  blows  from  Mr. 
Tome's  ruler.  He  received  them  without  any  shrink- 
ing, as  something  expected,  and  with  which  he  had  no 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  Ill 

fault  to  find.  Two  or  three  tears  silently  dissolved 
from  pain,  were  brushed  quickly  from  his  cheek,  then 
he  turned,  and  with  no  sign  of  disrespect  for  his 
teacher,  but  with  a  look  of  ungovernable  haughtiness 
and  self-satisfied  triumph,  he  took  his  seat. 

"  Henry  Logbun  carried  a  few  bruises  on  his  person 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  so  careful  a  remembrance  of 
them  while  his  school-days  lasted,  that  there  was  no 
further  occasion  to  beat  him  for  gratuitous  tattling. 

"  But  a  second  rupture  grew  out  of  this  first  one. 

James  Groby  was  the  largest  boy  at  school.  A  few 
days  after  Doty  Tetson's  freak  of  whistling,  Groby 
said  to  him  : 

"  '  Oh,  nonsense,  Doty  !  you  think,  of  course,  there's 
nobody  .like  your  Cousin  Earnest.  He  took  your  part 
against  that  lummox  Logbun.  What  if  he  did  ?  Log- 
bun's  a  baby,  if  he  is  big.  Earnest  wouldn't  have 
tried  anything  of  that  sort  on  me? 

"  '  Hadn't  better  give  him  a  chance,'  replied  Doty  : 
'  you're  almost  a  man,  and  he's  only  fourteen ;  but  if 
you  wind  him  up,  he'll  strike  like  a  clock,  every  time  ; 
mind  that.' 

"  James  Groby  by  no  means  relished  Doty's  opinion, 
that  any  boy  in  school  would  dare  oppose  him.  But 
the  conversation  was  cut  short  by  the  bell,  and  the  boys 
were  soon  engaged  with  their  lessons. 

"  Earnest  came  in  late,  and  knew  nothing  of  what 
had  been  said.  That  afternoon  he  was  to  be  very  busy. 
A  long  and  tedious  algebraic  problem  had  taken  up  a 
good  part  of  his  time  in  the  morning,  and  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  school-room,  he  sat  down  to  finish  it. 

"  His  slate  was  full  of  figures.     Mr.  Tome  was  hear- 


112  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

ing  a  recitation  in  a  part  of  the  room  farthest  from 
Earnest's  seat,  with  his  back  turned  toward  it.  James 
Groby  sat  about  a  dozen  feet  from  Earnest,  in  an  arm- 
chair, having  a  movable  board  attached,  which  could  be 
used  as  a  writing-desk  ;  and  beneath  the  seat  was  a 
drawer  in  which  Groby  kept  his  books.  Next  him  was 
an  unoccupied  chair,  with  an  old  cushion  in  it. 

"  As  Mr.  Tome  was  so  far  from  the  boys  who  sat  in 
this  part  of  the  room,  some  of  them  had  grown  restless, 
and  were  throwing  at  each  other  such  bits  of  paper,  and 
crumbs  of  sweet-meats,  as  their  pockets  contained.  It 
was  seldom  that  Earnest  participated  in  such  vagaries ; 
not  because  he  was  always  obedient,  but  because  he 
considered  them  beneath  him,  — ^  too  small  a  business. 
Now  he  was  so  much  occupied,  that  he  paid  no  attention 
to  anything  around  him.  He  had  pretty  nearly  worked 
out  his  problem,  and  was  eager  to  finish  it.  Several 
times,  small  missiles  had  hit  him,  and  had  caused  him 
some  irritation.  He  told  the  boys  that  he  was  in  no 
mood  for  play,  —  they  had  better  let  him  alone: 

"  James  Groby  heard  it,  and,  whispering  to  a  boy 
who  sat  near  him,  said  that  Earnest  Acton  was  '  putting 
on  the  man  a  little  too  high,  and  must  have  his  steeple 
dropped  off.'  Then,  catching  up  the  old  cushion  from 
the  unoccupied  chair,  he  tossed  it  directly  on  Earnest's 
slate.  It  rubbed  out  a  portion  of  his  figures.  The 
problem  couldn't  be  finished,  unless  by  beginning  almost 
anew,  and  his  day's  labor  was  lost. 

"  He  looked  for  an  instant  at  his  slate,  then  at  the 
face  of  James  Groby,  who  sat  laughing  at  him,  knowing 
that  he  would  bring  no  complaint  before  Mr.  Tome, 
and  fearing  nothing  worse.  Then  Earnest  laid  his  slate 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  113 

and  the  cushion  on  his  desk,  got  deliberately  up,  and 
walking  to  Groby's  chair,  struck  him  so  furiously,  as  he 
leaned  on  one  side  to  avoid  the  blow,  that  Groby  and 
his  chair,  his  writing-board,  books  and  inkstand,  all 
tumbled  on  the  floor  in  one  confused  and  noisy  heap. 

"  The  boys  arose  in  their  seats,  astonished  and 
frightened.  Groby  extricated  himself  from  the  chair, 
but  was  so  completely  astounded,  that  he  made  no 
attempt  to  retaliate.  Mr.  Tome  hurried  across  the 
room,  bidding  the  boys  sit  down.  By  a  few  inquiries, 
he  learned  the  cause  and  circumstances  of  the  quarrel. 
After  expressing  his  surprise,  that  one  so  old  as  James 
Groby,  should,  as  he  said,  '  seek  instruction  for  his 
mind  in  the  peccadilloes  of  children,'  he  addressed  Ear- 
nest Acton. 

"  '  My  child,'  said  he,  '  you  do  not  mean  to  be  vicious, 
but  you  have  a  temper  which  I  sometimes  fear  will 
prove  your  ruin.  You  have  good  qualities  with  it, 
and  if  these  should  by-and-by  yoke  it  to  themselves  in 
the  pursuit  of  noble  objects,  you  will  perhaps  rise  to 
superiority  by  reason  of  this  very  fault.  But  if  not  — 
if  such  a  force  should  be  connected  with  evil  aims  — 
the  misery  you  will  bring  upon  yourself  and  others, 
will  be  greater  than  any  human  being  should  inflict  or 
endure.' 

"  Having  said  this,  the  good  man  returned  to  the 
class  he  had  left,  and  never  again  alluded  to  the  after- 
noon's outbreak. 

"But  his  words  were  rooted  in  my  memory.     They 

partly  expressed   my    own   vague  imaginings.     I  had 

dimly  marked  out  in  my  mind  a  lofty  career  for  my 

friend.     I  couldn't  tell  what  it  would  be,  but  I  pictured 

10* 


114  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

it  as  powerful,  while  I  couldn't  believe  it  would  be 
ruinous  and  disgraceful." 

"  Was  your  friend  uncommonly  studious,"  asked 
Stella,  who  seemed  to  desire  that  Charley  should  still 
continue  his  account  of  Earnest. 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Charley.  "  His  recitations  were 
always  creditable,  as  his  lessons  were  easily  learned. 
Usually  one  or  two  depended  more  or  less  upon  him  at 
classes.  But  here,  he  didn't  seem  ambitious  to  excel,  — 
only  to  show  that  he  could  do  so  if  he  desired.  He  was 
a  boy.  His  ambition  was  that  of  a  boy :  it  was  of  a 
physical  cast.  Once  out  of  the  school-room,  he  was  the 
head  and  life  of  all  sports  and  contests.  No  one  of  his 
age  and  size  could  match  him  in  most  of  them.  Was  it 
wrestling  ?  He  was  always  ready.  Was  it  running  ? 
Few  would  attempt  to  catch  him.  Had  the  season 
come  for  snow-balling  ?  His  own  snow-ball  was  almost 
as  sure  as  a  gun-shot,  and  as  hard  as  a  stone. 

"  Of  course  this  endeavor  for  mere  physical  excellence 
soon  passed  away.  But  now  he  can  enter  into,  and 
appreciate  all  tones  of  mind,  —  not  only  that  of  the  in- 
tellectual saint,  but  also  that  of  the  rough  boxer ;  for, 
to  some  extent,  he  has  himself  been  both. 

"  I  must  tell  you  one  further  instance  of  his  boyish 
dash,  and  impudence,  and  daring.  It  also  speaks  of  the 
command  he  exercised  over  his  school-fellows. 

"  His  cousin  and  pet,  Doty  Tetson,  had  again  got 
into  trouble,  and  was  again  punished,  but,  as  Earnest 
imagined,  with  some  injustice,  and  undue  severity.  It 
was  just  before  school  was  dismissed  in  the  afternoon. 
As  the  boys  rushed  out,  Earnest,  pale  with  anger,  col- 
lected them  together,  marshalled  them  up  in  front  of 


• 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  115 

the   door,  and  actually  drove  them   into  giving  three 
groans  for  their  respected  teacher. 

"But  for  years,  he  didn't  forgive  himself  for  this 
insult  to  Mr.  Tome,  whom  he  really  loved  and  revered. 
It  was  the  source  of  acute  bitterness  to  him,  for  many 
days,  and  more  than  one  sleepless  night.  His  .kind 
preceptor  knew  him  much  better  than  he  himself  could, 
and  easily  pardoned  even  this  indignity,  —  pardoned  it 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason 
that  Earnest  regretted  it  more  than  any  other  single  act 
of  his  boyhood.  It  was  difficult  to  intimidate  him ; 
but  beneath  the  rays  of  kindness,  his  whole  nature 
would  melt." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  TT  is  Earnest's  theory,"  continued  Charley,  "  that 
J-  the  record  of  childhood  is  necessarily  uninterest- 
ing, unless  the  eye  is  fixed  on  the  future  of  the  child. 
As  '  father  of  the  man,'  the  boy  is  engaging.  Apart 
from  that,  save  in  our  own  love  of  the  little  one  we 
protect,  we  pass  over  his  history.  It  is  an  account  of 
romping ;  the  chasing  of  objects  symbolized  by  the  but- 
terfly ;  of  heedless  endeavor  for  the  gratification  of  im- 
pulses ;  of  loving  the  nearest  objects,  but  fearing  and 
shrinking  from  the  many  ;  of  sportive  cruelty  toward 
insect  and  animal.  Each  child  is  a  little  hunter,  a  little 
savage,  —  afraid  of  all  things,  yet,  having  the  strength, 
he  would  clutch  the  stars  for  his  playthings.  We  scru- 
tinize the  early  days  of  the  prominent,  and  of  our 
friends,  only  that  we  may  see  how  and  why  their  later 
days  were  so  vivid  and  important  to  us. 

"  I  have  told  you  of  Earnest  when  a  child,  placing 
him,  to  begin  with,  where  every  child  is  naturally 
placed,  I  suppose,  —  in  a  period  of  impulse  and  ac- 
tivity, awaiting  higher  things.  How  do  you  like  the 
picture  of  his  spirit  and  ability,  his  faults,  his  antago- 
nisms, on  the  low  plain,  boyhood  ?  " 

"  Oh !  very  well,"  cried  Cora,  so  hastily  that  Stella 

(116) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  117 

had  no  chance  to  speak ;  "  very  well  indeed,  for  the 
edification  of  philosophers  and  prize-fighters,  and  other 
such  people.  But  I  thought  you  told  Stella,  the  man 
had  a  heart.  What  was  he  doing  with  it  all  the  while 
when  he  was  young  ?  Didn't  he  ever  love  anybody  ? 
Wasn't  there  even  one  sweet-heart  who,  at  least  from 
pity,  could  condescend  to  just  a  little  tenderness  for 
such  an  ugly  and  outrageous  boy  ?  Why,  Charley, 
either  he  was  only  half  a  boy,  after  all,  or  else  you've 
told  us  only  one  side  of  a  story." 

Charley  Merlow  was  silent  for  a  moment,  under  this 
storm  of  raillery,  and  then  said  : 

"  Yes,  Cora,  you  are  right.  You  shall  have  the 
other  side  of  the  story  now,  while  I  am  in  the  humor. 
But  to  punish  you  for  the  terror  inflicted  on  me  by 
your  criticism,  I  shall  leave  you  for  at  least  ten  min- 
utes, while  I  go  home  and  get  a  letter  which  Earnest 
wrote  to  me  four  or  five  years  ago.  He  shall  speak  for 
himself  on  the  love-question.  That  is  a  matter  I  know 
nothing  about. 

"  Excuse  me,  meanwhile,"  he  added,  and  bounding 
to  the  door,  he  shut  it  behind  him  before  Cora  could 
retort.  But  he  returned  immediately,  bringing  the 
letter. 

"  Earnest  would  as  soon  I  should  read  it  to  you,  as 
not,"  said  he  ;  "  for  he  has  often  told  me,  it  contains,  in 
effect,  no  more  the  affairs  of  his  own  heart  than  of  a  thou- 
sand others.  Now  listen." 

••'••«  Love,  my  dear  Charley,  is  a  reality  the  most 
beautiful,  perhaps,  of  all.  But  there  are  many  follies 
and  vanities,  many  affectations  and  fibs,  constantly 
clinging  to  it.  I  think  it  has  seldom  been  deeply  un- 


118  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

derstood  or  naturally  portrayed  by  the  writers.  A  fa- 
vorite theory,  for  instance,  is  a  first  love,  at  first  sight, 
enduring  forever.  Has  not  any  one  who  has  once 
looked  into  himself,  lived  long  enough  to  know  better  ? 
I  suspect  a  first  love  is  commonly  an  illusion  vouch- 
safed merely  to  open  our  eyes." 

"  There,  that  will  do,"  Cora  interrupted,  "  it's  a 
most  shocking  epistle !  " 

But  Charley  persisted  in  reading. 

"  'Tis  true,  the  affections  are  precocious.  I  suppose 
we  have  but  a  very  limited  perception  of  the  beautiful, 
before  we  see  it  in  the  glances  of  a  maiden.  What  of 
that  ?  By  the  time  she  has  well  aroused  the  percep- 
tion, it  enables  us  to  see  others  lovelier  than  herself. 
If  we  have  heart,  we  shall  be  thankful  to  her.  But  is 
our  love  often  '  love  forevermore  ? '  Is  hers  so  ? 

"  My  friend,  open  your  ear  for  a  confession.  I  have 
a  string  of  loves  for  you,  that,  if  they  were  beads,  would 
reach  half  round  your  neck ;  and  if  they  wholly  encir- 
cled it,  I  should  not  now  be  jealous. 

"  When  you  and  I  first  knew  each  other,  I  was  four 
years  old,  I  believe.  Never  mind  the  occasion  :  you 
have  laughed  at  me  sufficiently  over  it.  But  I  insist 
that  I  was  simply  affording  my  father's  Arab  an  expert 
driver.  Well,  young  as  I  was,  you,  my  friend,  were 
not  my  first  love ;  and  I  had  several  of  your  gender 
prior  to  the  other  sort.  I  am  serious.  Love  does  not 
begin  in  any  distinction  of  sex  ;  and  if  we  gaze  far 
enough,  I  fancy  it  does  not  end  in  any  such  distinction. 

"  Before  your  time,  I  used  to  see  a  little  chap,  in  our 
village  —  I  presume  he  was  of  about  my  own  age  — 
who  charmed  me  magically.  I  was  in  love  with  him. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  119 

I  knew  the  symptoms.  I  pined  to  become  acquainted 
with  him ;  yet  I  was  shy,  and  scarcely  durst  approach 
him.  I  wanted  to  do  him  some  favor  —  anything  that 
would  please  him,  and  be  accepted.  I  would  have 
given  him  my  candy  —  the  whole  stick  —  gladly.  I 
wished  he  might  fall  off  his  door-step,  that  I  could  pick 
him  up,  and  comfort  him.  Yet  my  fondness  was  un- 
selfish. I  would  have  thrown  myself  off,  rather  than 
that  he  should  have  really  been  injured  in  the  smallest 
degree.  Poor  youngster !  I  have  no  doubt  he  was 
worthy  a  better  fate  than  befeU  him  the  other  day  in 
my  memory  :  so  untrue  to  him  had  I  been,  that  I  could 
not  even  recall  his  name. 

"  You  perceive,  my  good  friend,  that  you  were  my 
second  love.  We  met,  and  promised,  and  neither  has 
proved  false.  This  they  call  friendship. 

"  However,  after  moving  here  to  Ironton,  I  had  sev- 
eral passions  similar  to  my  first. 

"  One  was  for  a  child  whom  I  courted  assiduously 
for  a  considerable  time,  and  loved  dearly.  I  gained 
him  as  a  companion  and  playmate.  He  did  not  corre- 
spond with  the  darling  my  imagination  had  pictured  him 
to  be,  and  soon  he  was  deserted.  His  heart  remained 
whole,  and  his  body  grew  fat.  He  is  now  one  of  the 
coarsest,  commonest,  heaviest  young  men  in  the  county. 

"  But  when  somewhat  beyond  thirteen,  I  had  une 
grande  passion,  which  lasted  me  —  well,  it  must  have 
been  six  months.  Here  now  was  an  experience  to  be 
respected.  It  was  fervid,  exalted,  even  religious.  I 
remember  her  well,  Miss  Grey,  the  dear  charmer,  as 
she  then  appeared.  She  was  a  year  older  than  I, 
which,  you  know,  in  a  girl,  is  the  same  as  two  or  three- 


120  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

years  with  us.  She  was  pretty,  had  dark  hair,  in 
ringlets,  black  eyes,  a  clear,  fresh  face,  and  considera- 
ble body.  She  was  rather  stout.  My  ideal  was  not  a 
chalk-fed  fairy,  but  a  woman  with  blood  in  her.  I  was 
not  yet  Byronic  enough  even  to  '  hate  a  dumpy 
woman.' 

"  I  used  to  see  the  young  lady  at  church.  What 
set  my  heart  a-fluttering  for  her  I  never  knew.  There 
she  was,  in  the  pew,  where  I  could  always  look  at  her 
—  wholesome,  quiet,  and  well-behaved. 

"  AVhile  this  love  possessed  me,  there  was  a  revival 
connected  with  the  church.  My  mind  had  not  been 
exercised  upon  religion.  I  believed  what  I  heard,  sup- 
posing that  the  preacher  understood  the  truth,  and  was 
right.  I  was  impressed  by  his  sermons,  and  trembled 
for  my  soul.  Miss  Grey,  too,  was  deeply  moved.  I 
was  in  an  agony  of  fear  for  her.  Hell  was  depicted  in 
the  most  shocking  colors.  Perhaps  I  could  not  escape 
it.  I  felt  myself  to  be  an  intolerable  sinner.  But  I 
prayed  in  secret,  with  all  my  strength,  that  my  adored 
might  be  saved. 

"  O  God !  I  cried,  if  either  of  vis,  let  me  be  the 
sacrifice !  I  am  unworthy  ;  but  spare  her  innocence 
and  beauty  from  everlasting  fire  ! 

"  I  would  have  given  myself  to  perdition  for  her 
eternal  welfare.  Was  not  this  love  ? 

"  Meanwhile  I  was  comforted ;  I  thought  I  had 
found  rest  among  the  faithful,  and  the  tempest  of  my 
soul  was  assuaged.  Still,  I  hesitated  to  join  the 
church.  I  waited  to  become  a-  little  better  ;  to  try 
myself  a  little  longer.  It  seemed  that  I  ought  to  be 
very  good,  wholly  free  from  guile,  to  take  upon  me  the 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  121 

vows  and   duties  of  church-membership,  to  enter  the 
holy  of  holies. 

"  Miss  Grey  became  a  communicant.  She  was  con- 
fident of  her  salvation,  and  I  would  not  doubt  it.  I 
was  delighted,  and  gave  thanks  with  a  full  heart. 

"But  the  young  lady  knew  nothing  of  my  struggle 
or  my  happiness.  Notwithstanding  I  loved  her  with 
such  intensity,  I  had  scarcely  spoken  to  her  in  my  life. 
We  were  almost  strangers.  Indeed,  I  hardly  durst 
speak  to  her.  I  supposed  that  so  much  sweetness,  so 
much  worth,  could  not  lavish  themselves  upon  my  un- 
worthiness.  Circumstances  were  such  that  we  seldom 
met,  except  in  the  church  ;  and  had  we  been  constantly 
together,  I  could  not  at  that  time  have  mustered  suffi- 
cient courage,  it  is  probable,  to  display  my  tenderness. 
Daring,  to  that  extent,  would  have  seemed  insane  te- 
merity. 

"  It  was  well  that  this  absorption  did  not  long  con- 
tinue. It  was  acute,  even  to  pain  and  debility.  But 
it  went  as  it  came,  telling  not  how  or  why.  I  looked 
upon  that  lovely  face,  until  it  was  not  so  lovely,  and 
yet  it  had  not  changed.  Yesterday  I  saw  it,  as  I 
walked  the  street.  It  was  still  pretty  and  placid,  but, 
as  I  deemed,  somewhat  lifeless.  For  me,  in  all  save 
kindness  and  pleasant  recollections,  it  was  dead. 

"  I  awoke  from  my  religious  frenzy  even  sooner  than 
from  my  dream  of  love.  For  some  time,  as  you  are 
aware,  there  was  nothing  but  darkness  and  mist  in  its 
place. 

"  After  the  pure  and  silent  adoration  for  Miss  Grey, 
I  attended  a  school  at  which  there  were  both  maidens 
and  young  men. 

11 


122  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  Here  were  two  pretty  girls  who  severally  inspired 
me  with  emotions  similar  to  those  connected  with  my  for- 
mer angel,  only  not  so  severe.  One  was  slender,  gentle, 
and  yielding,  Avhose  chief  beauty  was  a  kind  smile. 
Her  eyes  were  blue ;  her  hair  would  be  called  auburn, 
if  you  disliked  to  pronounce  it  a  still  sunnier  hue. 
She  is  the  worthy  wife  of  an  industrious  shoemaker. 
The  other  enchantress  had  sparkling  black  eyes,  and 
hair  not  a  shade  lighter.  Her  laugh  was  round  and 
loud,  her  person,  large  and  slightly  masculine  in  move- 
ment. She  also  is  married.  Pier  husband  is  a  police- 
man, saloon-keeper,  and  expositor  of  '  the  manly  art 
of  self-defence.'  He  is  much  superior  to  her  quondam 
lover,  both  in  the  immensity  of  his  mustache  and  the 
compactness  of  his  muscles. 

"  After  the  reign  of  the  sturdy  brunette,  my  heart 
was  for  a  considerable  time  freer  and  colder.  Still,  it 
was  once  or  twice  punctured,  if  not  pierced.  I  re- 
member particularly  well,  one  strangely  simple  little  in- 
cident which  occurred  to  set  it  fluttering.  I  was  in  the 
street  of  a  morning,  and  met  our  Madame  de  Villier's 
studious  demoiselles,  walking  in  their  pretty  file  of 
couples,  when  a  small  boy  cried  out  at  them  :  '  Sheep  ! 
sheep  !  '  Suddenly,  and  from  sheer  fun,  as  I  fancied, 
the  loveliest  and  most  regal  maid  of  the  flock,  stepped 
out  of  it,  caught  hold  of  the  child,  and  shook  him  into 
a  simple  bundle  of  red  astonishment.  Just  then, 
ready  to  burst  with  laughter,  I  caught  her  merry,  yet 
most  intense  and  spiritual  eye.  She  laughed,  blushed, 
and  resumed  her  place,  without  looking  back.  Would 
you  believe  it  ?  —  for  weeks  I  could  not  drive  her  or 
the  incident  from  mind,  and  I  have  asked  myself  a 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  123 

hundred  times  since,  if  that  dash  of  independence, 
connected  with  her  dignity  and  those  spiritual  eyes, 
was  not  indicative  of  higher  phases  of  the  same  trait, 
and  of  something  very  near  and  dear  to  my  own 
nature. 

"  Now  I  am  touched  by  memories  which  bow  my 
head  in  tender  respect.  Affie  Brantome  —  my  friend, 
you  knew  her.  She  rose  in  the  horizon  of  my  bright- 
ening manhood,  after  a  long  night  of  gloom.  For  three 
desolate  years  I  had  not  loved  the  world,  I  had  not 
loved  myself,  when  she  came,  with  a  softened  picture 
of  the  summer  heaven  in  her  eyes,  to  glide  into  my 
heart,  lighting  up  with  her  own  faith  and  loveliness, 
that  too  dismal  shelter.  I  have  told  you  the  sequel. 
How  could  I  forgive  myself,  if  I  did  not  know  that  she 
has  forgiven  me,  and  is  happy!  How  her  lingering 
illness  veiled  that  sunny  spirit  in  clouds  of  melancholy  ! 
She  thought  it  would  prevent  her  from  becoming  a 
helpful  companion,  a  useful  wife.  She  had  lighted  my 
pathway ;  her  own  was  now  dark.  She  counted  on  my 
love  —  that  it  would  increase  with  her  misfortune  ;  but 
she  would  not  live  a  useless  pensioner  on  its  bounty. 
She  remembered  my  pride :  I  would  bear  no  coldness, 
no  wavering.  Poor  child !  she  sent  me  chilling  letters, 
though  it  tore  her  heart  to  write  them.  They  gave  me 
a  sense  of  uncertainty.  Was  she  trifling,  then,  after  all  ? 
I  could  not  know  of  her  saintly  renunciation.  I  wrote 
'her  a  few  kind  words,  saying  they  would  be  the  last. 
She  said,  in  return,  that  I  did  not  understand  her,  that 
she  did  not  understand  herself:  —  pleading  not  to  be 
forgotten,  yet  a  little  while  to  be  loved  ;  but  alas  !  ex- 
plaining nothing.  I  persisted  in  silence,  unbroken, 


124  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

complete.     God  forgive  me !  I  was  but  nineteen.     Is  a 
boy  fit  to  love,  or  only  to  be  proud  ? 

"  Indirectly,  and  a  long  time  afterward,  the  explana- 
tion came.  It  bruised  and  stunned  me  like  the  shock  of 
a  fall.  I  was  stung  to  the  core  of  my  being.  But  to 
what  purpose  ?  Affie  had  regained  her  health ;  and 
the  tendrils  of  her  beautiful  nature,  which  must  nestle 
near  to  some  kind  support,  had  partly  twined  themselves 
about  another  existence.  I  prayed  he  might  be  worthy 
of  that  lovely  flower,  wearing  it  on  his  breast  more 
carefully,  more  sacredly,  than  I  had  done.  I  could  not 
ask  it  now  :  it  was  his. 

"  But  I  am  growing  sad.  I  have  written  too  long,  — 
not  dreaming,  at  the  outset,  where  my  pen  would  carry 
me.  In  my  soul,  I  press  your  hand. 

"EARNEST." 

As  Cora  brushed  away  a  tear,  Charley  asked  her  if 
he  had  now  completed  the  story  to  her  satisfaction. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  as  far,  perhaps,  as  you  can. 
But  we  shall  yet  add  a  lady  more  charming  than  all,  as 
the  last  on  his  list." 

She  looked  at  Stella.  But  the  young  widow's  face 
was  buried  in  her  hands,  — perhaps  in  thought. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

ON  the  second  subsequent  evening,  Charley  Merlow 
came  again  ;  and  this  time  his  friend  was  with  him. 
Earnest  was  still  pale.  A  narrow  patch  on  one  side  of 
his  forehead,  almost  concealed  by  the  long,  clustering 
chestnut  hair  which  fell  over  it,  was  yet  a  perceptible 
souvenir  of  his  late  rencounter. 

Cora  met  the  young  men  ;  but  Stella  was  not  visible. 

"  Cora,  where  is  Mrs.  Torson  ?  "  asked  Charley,  who 
was  now  always  perfectly  at  home  in  the  house  of 
Richard  Clandon. 

"  Know,  Mr.  Impertinence,"  was  the  reply,  "  that 
the  lady  isn't  quite  ready  to  come  down  stairs.  If  you 
wish,  I'll  step  and  ask  her  what  she  is  doing  at  just  this 
instant :  —  it  might  be  interesting,  it  might  not.  Or  if 
you'll  wait  a  few  minutes,  tolerating  my  company  mean- 
while, then,  I  presume,  my  friend  will  appear.  Mr. 
Acton,  now,  would  be  perfectly  content  with  me,  I'm 
sure.  But  our  Charley  is  very  difficult  to  please." 

These  last  words  were  addressed  to  Earnest,  with 
Cora's  usual  look  of  merriment ;  and  as  he  knew  the 
goodness  of  her  heart,  her  light  words  and  her  bright 
face  seemed,  just  then,  two  of  the  most  agreeable 
features  of  the  world. 

11  (125) 


126  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  You  are  certainly  right,  Miss  Clandon,"  he  respond- 
ed ;  then,  with  the  gentle  look  of  admiration  lingering 
in  his  eyes,  he  turned  toward  Charley,  seeming  to  say 
by  his  glance,  —  Well,  my  good  fellow,  you  have  a 
treasure,  I  think. 

The  three  conversed  for  a  few  minutes,  when  Charley 
stepped  to  a  window  to  see  something  that  suddenly 
attracted  his  attention.  Cora  called  him,  and  as  he  did 
not  come  back  soon  enough,  she  started  toward  him, 
with  the  evident  intention  of  accelerating  his  move- 
ments. Earnest  rose,  and  as  the  piano  stood  at  his 
hand,  he  touched  it. 

"  He  is  very  noble  and  very  good,  isn't  he  ?  and 
very  handsome  besides,"  whispered  Cora  to  Charley, 
as  a  noisy  carriage  rattled  by  the  window.  "  How  he 
and  Stella  could  love  each  other  !  " 

Then  she  returned  immediately  to  Earnest,  pulling 
Charley  by  the  sleeve.  She  had  heard  a  boy  in  the 
street,  whistle  a  tune,  that  morning,  she  said ;  and 
now,  while  two  or  three  notes  that  Mr.  Acton  had 
struck,  reminded  her  of  it,  she  must  try  to  play  it. 
So  down  she  sat  at  the  instrument.  But  she  was  un- 
able to  recall  the  whole  of  the  melody,  and  Earnest, 
who  had  also  partly  caught  it,  somewhere,  aided  her 
by  humming  portions  she  could  not  remember. 

When  she  had  run  it  over  once  or  twice,  to  her  sat- 
isfaction, she  struck  off  into  some  sprightly  operatic 
music,  playing  with  precise  execution  and  good  taste. 
Earnest  told  her  so,  frankly  and  respectfully. 
*  "  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said ;  "  I'm  among  the  champions 
about  here  of  the  so-sos.  But  I'm  glad  I  happened 
to  play  for  you  in  advance  of  Stella  —  Mrs.  Torson 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS,  127 

I  .mean.  After  listening  to  her,  one  never  asks  any- 
thing more  of  poor  Cora.  The  child  may  go  talk 
nonsense  then,  —  a  feat  hi  which  she  has  few  supe- 
riors. But  Stella  is  a  genius.  She  carries  music  to  a 
science.  She  will  make  the  ocean  roar,  or  the  ele- 
phant tread  for  you,  on  the  piano  ;  or  she  will  make 
the  saint  pray  and  the  lovelorn  maiden  moan.  Then 
she  will  give  you  a  sound  that  will  correspond  to  a 
toothache  you  felt  sometime,  and  you  wonder  if  it's 
going  to  begin  again.  Or,  in  strict  truth  and  soberness, 
her  playing  is  the  most  expressive  I  ever  heard,  except 
from  one  or  two  great  artists,  the  best  in  the  country. 
I've  heard  her  play  when  I've  even  preferred  her  to 
them.  But  —  and  now  I'm  going  to  put  in  a  modifi- 
cation, for  they  say  a  lady  always  finds  one,  when  she 
extols  another  lady  —  Stella  has  a  big  hand.  The 
man,  though,  who  gets  her  heart,  will  find  that  bigger. 
Bless  me  !  I  wonder  why  she  doesn't  come  down  ! " 

While  Cora  was  thus  entertaining  Earnest  and 
Charley ;  chatting,  joking,  flying  from  one  subject  to 
another  ;  and  never  forbidding  the  mouth  to  utter  the 
thought,  the  fancy,  or  oddity  that  popped  into  her 
mind ;  —  Stella,  alone  in  her  apartment,  was  very 
differently  engaged. 

When  Earnest  and  Charley  came,  they  had  been 
expected.  As  their  voices  sounded  in  the  hall,  Stella 
had  begged  Cora  to  go  down  and  meet  them  alone. 

"  I  want  a  few  minutes,  dear,  to  myself,"  she  said : 
"  then  I  will  be  with  you. 

Cora  did  as  her  friend  desired.  Meanwhile  Stella 
had  tried  to  dream  out  of  a  problem,  its  yet  impossible 
solution. 


128  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

The  truth  was,  notwithstanding  her  declaration  to 
Cora  that  she  did  not  love  Earnest ;  that  she  could  not 
love  any  one  so  suddenly ;  she  felt  an  indefinite,  pro- 
phetic dread  of  meeting  him,  though  she  would  not 
give  herself  up  to  it. 

"No,"  she  soliloquized,  "I  have  seen  him  but  three 
or  four  times  in  my  life.  Surely  I  am  not  so  weak 
that  I  need  fear  meeting  him  as  many  times  again, 
before  permitting  myself  such  a  thought  as  love.  And 
in  any  event,  is  there  more  than  one  course  ?  —  to 
walk  on  till  I  see  when  and  where  I  ought  to  turn  ? 
And  what  if  I  should  love  ?  Where  is  the  danger  ? 
Who  knows  that  he  would  respond  to  my  longing  ? 
His  heart  seems  to  have  passed  away  from  special 
objects,  to  a  mellowed  kindness  for  all  who  are  noble, 
and  gentle,  and  fair.  But  yes,  it  would  be  so  !  He  is 
young ;  he  is  generous ;  he  could  not  repel  a  heart 
knowing  his,  if  it  painfully  leaped  out  to  meet  him. 
It  is  only  too  easy  for  such  a  soul  to  love !  " 

Then  Stella  experienced  once  more  the  heavy,  clog- 
ging sensation  over  her  heart,  which  she  had  felt  before 
her  marriage,  as  she  looked  out  of  the  window  from 
her  father's  house,  into  the  sunshine,  which  blackened 
instantly  to  cloud  and  gloom. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  murmured :  "  he  can  love ;  and  I 
can  love  only  him.  Yet  neither  of  us  must  love. 
The  reality  of  my  youth's  dream  is  before  me.  Can  I 
myself  now  drop  the  veil  to  hide  it  from  my  sight? 
Yes,  I  am  strong  enough  to  do  my  duty  ;  I  can." 

Stella  sat  awhile  in  deep,  silent  meditation,  then  she 
bent  her  body,  and  bowed  her  head ;  but  her  spirit 
rose  on  high. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  129 

"  My  Father,"  she  murmured,  "  let  my  soul  grow 
calm  by  approaching  Thee.  I  know  not  what  to  ask ; 
Thou  knowest  all  things  best  to  give.  Guide  me  to 
see  my  life's  duty,  and,  seeing  it,  to  shrink  not  away. 
Let  the  example  of  the  world's  greatest  spirit  be  ever 
near  me.  He  was  thy  noblest  Son,  my  loftiest 
Brother,  by  giving  all  to  Thee.  In  his  spirit,  grant 
me  to  live,  grant  me  to  die,  —  asking  no  dearer  pleas- 
ure, no  sweeter  reward." 

Stella  rose,  and  soon  joined  her  friends  in  the 
drawing-room.  Her  face  was  thoughtful  and  a  little 
sad.  Her  brow  was  very  white — almost  pallid;  but 
a  flush  was  on  her  lips  and  on  her  cheeks.  Her  hair 
was,  as  usual,  plain  and  glossy,  brushed  "madonna- 
wise."  Her  dress  was  a  black  silk,  elegantly  fitted, 
but  as  plain  as  her  hair.  It  was  finished  at  the  neck 
and  wrists  by  the  simple  lustre  of  pure  linen  —  the 
collar  and  cuffs.  A  white,  fleecy  knit  shawl,  almost 
as  soft  and  delicate  as  lace,  was  thrown  across  her 
shoulders,  and  yielded  pliantly  to  every  motion. 
Small  golden  crosses,  enamelled  with  a  blue  like  the 
azure  of  her  eyes,  and  closely  set  with  little  pearls  as 
the  centre  of  the  skyey  tint,  —  these  for  ear-rings,  and 
a  larger  cross  of  the  same  kind  for  a  breastpin,  were 
her  only  jewels.  She  was  very  fond  of  the  Christian 
symbol ;  and  in  some  color  —  black,  or  blue,  or  the 
gleaming  yellow  of  plain  gold  —  it  was  almost  con- 
stantly worn  upon  her  person. 

"  Why,  how  long  you've  staid  away  from  us-,"  said 
Cora,  as  Stella  entered  the  room. 

"  I  began  to  find  myself  veiy  dull  to  the  gentlemen 
without  you,"  she  continued,  as  Earnest  and  Charley 


130  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

advanced  to  meet  her  friend,  who  extended  a  hand  to 
each  of  them,  —  the  right  to  Earnest,  as  he  happened 
to  be  on  that  side,  the  left  to  Charley,  who  did  not 
wait  for  the  other  to  be  disengaged. 

"  I  was  not  aware  it  was  long,"  replied  Stella.  "  As 
for  the  dulness,  it  seems  to  me,  the  gentlemen's  faces 
and  their  merry  voices  flattered  my  Cora  wonderfully, 
if  she  had  really  lost  the  least  particle  of  her  e#psrvt" 

"  Tut,  tut ! "  persisted  Cora,  "  don't  you  know  it's 
shocking  to  contradict  people  ?  " 

She  said  this  with  one  of  her  ever-ready  kisses,  still 
declaring  that  Stella  had  been  up-stairs  such  a  great 
while,  that  she  couldn't  tell  without  tasting,  whether 
she  yet  loved  her  or  not. 

From  Stella's  solicitous  glance  at  Earnest's  forehead, 
and  her  inquiries  after  his  health,  the  conversation 
turned  once  again  to  the  affray  on  High  street,  then 
especially  to  Jerry  Kay. 

"  What  a  kind-hearted,  quick-witted,  demonstrative 
old  blarney  he  is,"  said  Cora.  "  I  think  he's  the  most 
Irish  specimen  of  Ireland  I  ever  saw.  What  fun  it  is 
to  hear  him  swear  !  I  know  it's  dreadfully  wicked  in 
me  to  say  so ;  but  whenever  I  hear  him,  I  can't  help 
laughing.  I  couldn't  to  save  my  ears.  Stella,  why  do 
people  swear?  " 

"  A  fair  question,  truly,"  replied  Stella,  "  but  not  so 
easy  as  some  others,  it  may  be,  for  me  to  answer.  I 
believe,  however,  if  you  really  want  to  know,  there 
are  reasons  for  the  practice  in  human  nature,  as  there 
are  such  reasons  for  all  other  human  practices.  I 
might  give  you  my  opinion,  but  I  should  prefer  to  hear 
one.  Mr.  Acton,  suppose  you  tell  us  why  people 
swear." 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  131 

Stella  spoke  thus,  partly  because  she  wished  to  hear 
Earnest  talk ;  partly  because,  in  spite  of  herself,  and 
needlessly,  as  she  knew,  she  felt  slightly  awed  by  his 
presence  and  bearing.  It  was  perfectly  simple  —  even 
childlike ;  but  there  was  a  certain  depth,  a  certain 
directness  in  his  most  careless  actions,  in  his  very 
motions,  which  others  might  not  perceive,  but  which 
she  could  as  little  fail  to  see.  The  perception  might 
increase  rather  than  hamper  her  own  powers,  —  she 
would  be  sure  of  being  understood.  Still,  she  wished 
at  first  to  listen,  rather  than  to  speak. 

"  I  am  disappointed  ;  "  was  Earnest's  answer  to  her 
request.  "  I  expected  to  hear  a  much  better  response 
to  our  friend  Cora's  question,  than  I  could  myself  offer. 
I  will  obey  you  however;  but  you  must  promise  to 
correct  me  if  I  should  err. 

"  Swearing,"  he  continued,  when  the  promise  was 
given,  "  is  confined  to  no  locality,  I  presume.  It  is  a 
failing  of  mankind.  Men  swore  by  the  gods,  as  they 
also  worshipped  them,  before  their  minds  rose  completely 
to  the  conception  of  one  God.  Or  they  swore  by  some 
special  deity,  or  by  Jove,  the  '  Father  of  gods  and  men.' 
The  name  of  Jehovah  had  evidently  been  used  with 
lightness,  before  it  was  necessary  to  write  the  command- 
ment :  '  Thou  shalt  not  take  the  name  of  the  Lord  thy 
God  in  vain.'  Profanity  seems  to  me  the  reverse  and 
dark  side  of  prayer.  We  instinctively  believe  in  a 
power  above  us.  We  call  on  it  to  bless  us.  If  ignorant 
and  filled  with  hate,  we  call  on  it  to  curse  the  objects 
of  our  hatred.  If  wrapped  in  excitement,  even  over 
trifles,  we  are  apt  to  feel  as  though  nothing  we  conceive 
as  limited,  can  represent  our  agitation.  So  we  appeal 


132  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

to  the  Boundless.  An  oath  is  thus  a  recognition  of 
God,  in  a  low  and  hasty  manner.  But  our  reverence 
demands  that  the  All-High  shall  be  recognized  loftily, 
—  never  as  we  bandy  trifles.  The  third  commandment 
is  an  inevitable  decree  of  the  soul,  —  as  inevitably 
broken  by  frivolity  and  heat. 

"  But  the  man  who  thinks  and  defines,  putting  things 
in  their  places,  has  no  need  to  invoke  his  Creator  as  he 
brushes  away  a  fly  or  describes  a  toy.  We  say  '  the 
gentleman  does  not  swear.'  The  '  gentleman  '  we  ac- 
count to  be  thoughtful  and  cool. 

"  I  have  noticed  that  the  French  swear  glibly  and 
commonly ;  the  Irish,  invariably.  These  people  are 
hot-hearted,  enthusiastic,  and  light.  Their  profanity 
usually  means  nothing  more  than  that  they  have  a  word 
to  say  which  they  cannot  say  strongly  enough  to  suit 
them.  It  is  so  with  our  kind  old  friend,  Jerry  Kay. 
He  intends  no  harm,  but  can  hardly  breathe  without 
mentioning  God  or  the  Devil — _the  highest  good,  the 
greatest  evil.  Well,  the  human  spirit  itself  can  scarcely 
throb  in  any  direction,  but  it  shall  instantly  come  upon 
these  :  —  reverence  and  love  in  their  own  way,  violence 
and  anger  also  in  their  way." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Acton,"  said  Cora,  when  Earnest 
had  concluded  ;  "  I've  found  out  then,  at  last,  why  I  do 
really  ache  sometimes  to  say  —  well  — '  fiddlesticks  ! ' 
I  thought  there  were  roots  for  it  in  my  blood ;  I  rather 
suspected  the  roots  were  a  sort  of  natural  growth  in 
blood  generally.  They  sprout  especially  in  mine, 
I  see  now  ;  for  somewhere,  at  the  other  end  of  my 
pedigree,  the  Clandons  were  French-Irish.  Charley, 
don't  you  like  Irish  girls  ?  " 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  133 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  replied  Charley,  "  and  French 
girls  too." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Cora,  "  come  here,  and  sit  by  me 
a  minute,  which  you  haven't  done  this  whole  blessed 
evening.  Mr.  Acton,  as  I  know,  likes  the  Germanic 
blood,  or  the  old  Grecian.  That  means  Stella.  Come, 
let  us  arrange  ourselves  according  to  our  attractions  for 
blood,  —  not  gentlemen  with  gentlemen,  and  ladies  with 
ladies,  as  some  evil  genius  has  now  assorted  us.  It's 
dreadfully  stiff.  For  my  part,  I  always  liked  to  sit 
with  the  boys,  even  for  a  punishment  at  school." 

With  this,  she  took  Stella's  arm,  and  pushed  her 
gently  into  a  chair  beside  Earnest,  at  the  same  time 
taking  Charley's  arm  and  pulling  him  into  the  chair 
beside  herself,  which  had  been  occupied  by  Stella. 

Both  obeyed  easily  ;  for  everybody  obeys  a  humorous, 
capricious,  irresistible  young  woman. 

"  Now,"  she  exclaimed,  "  this  group  pleases  me. 
We'll  resume,  if  you  please,  our  researches  into  blood, 
with  its  morals,  manners,  and  customs." 

But  they  had  not  conversed  long,  before  she  was 
ready  for  something  else. 

"  Stella,"  she  said,  "  I  told  Mr.  Acton,  before  you 
came  down,  about  your  musical  proclivities.  My  criti- 
cisms were  very  impressive :  were  they  not,  Mr.  Acton  ? 
And  haven't  you  been  dying  ever  since,  to  hear  her 
play  ?  " 

Earnest  said  he  was  at  that  very  moment  on  the 
point  of  requesting  her  to  do  so ;  and  now,  that  the 
opportunity  had  been  given  him,  he  must  urge  her. 

"  I  need  but  little  urging,"  Stella  replied.  "  I  am  so 
very  fond  of  music  that  I  am  always  glad  to  be  at  the 
12 


134  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

piano,  when  others  are  really  glad  to  listen.  Cora, 
what  will  you  have?  " 

"  Oh !  a  jig  for  me,  by  all  means !  "  Cora  answered. 
"But  I  think  Mr.  Acton  wouldn't  like  that.  He's 
been  telling  me  that  he  likes  the  German  music,  con- 
sidering it  equalled  in  power  and  richness  only  by  the 
profundity  and  research  of  German  literature.  I  be- 
lieve that's  your  opinion  too.  Well,  suppose  we  have 
a  toucn  of  Mynheer  Meyerbeer,  to  begin  with,  —  say 
the  '  March '  from  the  '  Prophet.'  That's  Teutonic 
enough  to  charm  the  glass  out  of  the  windows." 

Once  on  the  stream  of  music,  with  Stella  as  pilot,  the 
minutes  passed  to  Earnest  like  seconds.  He  was 
entranced.  Charley  Merlow  was  again  completely 
amazed,  and  Cora  was  radiant  with  delight  at  her 
friend's  success. 

"  A  queen,  isn't  she  !  "  was  her  exclamation  as  she 
and  Charley  stood  listening  together. 

If  Stella  was  now  absorbed  in  the  elysium  of  har- 
monies which  she  seemed  to  create,  Earnest  would 
have  been  as  deeply  so,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  in- 
terest in  her  on  whom  such  felicity  depended.  At  first 
he  could  not  give  his  thoughts  wholly  to  the  music ; 
for  music  itself  appeared  to  be  embodied  in  her.  He 
saw  at  once  that  Cora  had  not  exaggerated  her  merits. 
He  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  had  seen  no  one 
who  could  at  all  compare  with  her,  except,  as  Cora  had 
asserted,  one  or  two  public  performers,  and  they  among 
the  most  noted  in  the  world.  It  would  have  been  diffir 
cult  to  convince  him  that  even  these  could  have  ex- 
celled her,  unless,  possibly,  in  their  own  favorite  efforts. 
But  she  played  everything,  from  ballad  to  oratorio,  and 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  135 

all  perfectly.  Yes,  perfectly,  in  as  far  as  that  Earnest 
could  ask  for  nothing  more,  in  conception  or  execu- 
tion, than  she  was  able  to  render. 

In  his  reading  of  different  authors,  Earnest  had 
tried  to  understand  them,  not  through  prepossessions  of 
his  own  mind,  but  by  creeping  into  their  minds ;  —  by 
sympathizing  with  them  for  the  time  being  ;  by  making 
their  outlook  his  stand-point  of  vision.  A  book  which 
he  esteemed  worth  reading,  he  thought  deserving  of 
this  compliment.  The  writer  once  permeated,  once 
comprehended  as  he  comprehended  himself,  then  the 
reader  must  judge  as  to  there  being  a  higher  outlook 
than  the  one  just  occupied.  Earnest  now  fancied 
that  Stella  had  done  the  same  in  music.  Her  perform- 
ance seemed  different  from  that  of  others,  not  merely 
in  the  faultlessness  of  the  touch,  but  in  the  inmost 
sense  of  the  theme.  Her  style  was  her  own  ;  yet  it  was 
evidently  nothing  but  the  most  sensitive  and  accurate 
appreciation  of  the  grand  masters  of  the  art,  most  dex- 
terously declared  by  her  fingers  instead  of  her  words. 
She  had  truly  "  thought  to  music  ;  "  to  her  it  had  not 
been  merely  a  sensuous  revel. 

To  Earnest,  sounds  were  representative  of  things. 
He  had  not  made  music  a  study,  but  he  could  never 
listen  to  it  without  knowing  that  he  had  come  in  con- 
tact with  one  more  phase  of  that  intelligence  which  is 
the  centre  and  substance  of  the  universe.  He  per- 
ceived that  it  expressed  his  joy,  his  sorrow,  his  wor- 
ship, his  mirth.  It  uttered  his  attractions,  his  repul- 
sions. He  had  asked  if  gravitation  had  a  heart,  and 
this  were  the  murmurino;s  of  its  love.  He  had  sat  in 

O 

church  when  he  could  bow  to  God  only  through  the 


136  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

prayer  of  the  organ  ;  and  as  some  receptive,  melodious 
nature  which  had  no  utterence  at  the  lips  for  its  aspi- 
rations, but  could  praise  Heaven  for  blessings,  and  beg 
their  continuance,  by  the  thanksgiving  and  the  suppli- 
cation of  the  key-board,  —  as  genius  had  thus  directly 
communed  with  the  Father,  and  Earnest  had  heard  it 
cease  its  petition,  that  perhaps  some  fleshy  face  and 
husky  voice  in  a  surplice  might  say :  "  We  will  now 
begin  the  service  of  God,"  —  the  young  man's  soul 
had  sunk  within  him,  and  all  worship  had  fled. 

As  Stella  now  sat  at  the  finest  piano  that  Richard 
Clandon*  could  procure  for  his  daughter,  pouring  out  all 
the  harmonies  of  which  it  seemed  capable ;  as  Earnest 
stood  admiring  that  superb  woman,  —  how  soon  and 
how  easily  they  understood  each  other  !  how  impalpa- 
bly,  yet  how  surely,  their  spirits  conjoined !  She  struck 
up  the  wild,  terrific  battle  song  of  Rouget  de  Lisle 's. 
The  storm  gathered  on  Earnest's  brow,  the  spring  of 
the  tiger  seemed  flashing  from  his  eye,  and  his  right 
hand  was  clenched,  as  though  a  sword  was  in  its  grasp. 
She  looked  up  into  his  flushed  face,  anticipating,  yet 
almost  recoiling  from  the  effect  she  had  produced,  and 
suddenly  that  epitome  of  the  French  Revolution  died 
from  her  fingers.  It  melted  into  an  operatic  aria  of 
love  and  hope.  As  she  looked  again  into  his  face,  how 
different  must  have  been  the  emotions  it  expressed ! 
For  her  eye,  all  softness,  turned  away,  and  a  deep 
blush  was  on  her  cheek. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

AGAIN  the  friends  met  at  Richard  Clandon's. 
It  seems  that  after  Earnest  and  Stella  had  been 
drawn  so  near  to  each  other  by  the  charm  of  music, 
on  that  early  April  evening  of  our  last  chapter,  Stella 
had  spoken  of  her  pleasure  in  meeting  one  with  whom 
so  close  a  communion  of  the  kind  could  be  established. 
Earnest,  in  return,  had  applauded  her  gift  with  simple 
directness  and  fervor.  He  had  said  what  he  thought, 
with  no  strain  at  personal  encomium,  with  no  fear  of 
it ;  but  as  though  the  gift  itself  were  above  all  persons, 
and  separate  from  them.  She  had  alluded  to  his  poem, 
to  Charley's  remarks  on  it  and  on  him,  and  to  having 
somewhat  interested  herself  in  his  history. 

"I  find  we  are  both  given,"  she  said,  "to  looking 
for  a  life  deeper  than  this  life,  —  for  the  undercurrents 
of  affairs  about  us.  Let  me  ask  a  favor  of  you.  I 
always  have  a  strange  curiosity  to  know  what  picture 
of  God  and  man  is  painted  on  the  thought  of  a  person 
who  strikes  me  as  in  any  way  remarkable  for  good  or 
ill.  I  regard  it  as  the  index  of  his  actions.  In  it  I 
look  for  him.  You  like  to  talk,  I  know,  on  subjects 
which  men  have  deemed  the  highest.  Would  you 

(137) 


138  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

think  your  time  wasted  in  talking  upon  them  to  me  ?  I 
wish  you  would  promise  to  do  so  sometime." 

It  was  pleasing  for  Earnest  to  give  the  promise  she 
desired.  It  might  have  been  a  fancy  of  his,  but  he  re- 
garded his  inward  experience  as  in  some  degree  a 
mirror  of  great  facts  and  tendencies  about  him,  as  Char- 
ley Merlow  had  intimated  to  Stella.  And  why  should 
he  decline  to  hold  this  mirror  up  to  the  fair,  sympathiz- 
ing friend  whose  image  had  already  sunk  deeply  into 
his  heart  ? 

When  now  they  met,  Stella  soon  reminded  him  of 
their  last  conversation. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  it,"  he  said,  "  but  with  your 
permission  I  must  modify  my  promise.  Such  an  ac- 
count of  myself  as  you  wish  me  to  give,  requires 
compression  and  exactness,  or  it  cannot  be  worth  your 
while.  It  must  relate  too,  you  know,  to  the  deepest 
questions  that  have  ever  engaged  the  human  mind. 
Now  if  our  friend  Cora  were  obliged  to  listen  to  it,  she 
would  scarcely  hesitate  to  call  it  dull,  I  fear ;  and  per- 
haps obscure  and  heterodox  besides.  Then  the  experi- 
ence is  such  that  I  should  have  to  speak  of  myself  in 
connection  with  some  very  strong  minds  and  illustrious 
names.  Not  at  all  in  comparison,  of  course,  so  far  as 
strength  and  action  are  concerned  ;  but  as  having  been 
in,  and  passed  through  —  although  in  my  youth  and 
weakness  —  the  general  phases  of  thought  and  feeling, 
which  they,  in  their  might  of  personalty,  represented 
to  the  world  in  their  time  and  place.  To  any  one  not 
having  the  clearest  perception  that  great  men  are  al- 
ways representative  of  ideas  and  epochs  of  history,  — 
that  they  are  merely  strong  embodiments  of  a  common 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  139 

progressive  humanity,  —  I  should  labor  under  the  dis- 
advantage of  much  apparent  egotism.  In  conversa- 
tion, too,  my  narrative  would  be  almost  interminable, 
as  it  would  lack  order.  But  not  long  ago,  I  wrote  out 
a  summary  of  the  matter,  as  well  as  I  could,  for  a 
young  friend,  who  was  earnest,  inquiring,  and  thought- 
ful ;  but  sceptical  to  the  last  degree ;  and  who  yet 
needed  to  believe  in  something,  —  needed  some  faith 
which  could  be  reconciled  with  his  reason,  and  on 
which  he  could  rest.  Mine  was  radical  enough ;  but  I 
gave  it  to  him  for  what  it  was  worth,  and  at  the  same 
time  pointed  out  to  him  those  who  had  helped  me 
reach  it.  I  have  brought  the  paper  with  me  to-night. 
It  is  rather  long,  and  would  be  tedious  to  many.  But 
you  may  take  it,  if  you  wish,  and  read  it  at  your 
leisure,  or  brand  it  'heavy,'  and  return  it  to  me 
unread." 

Stella  accepted  it  gladly,  and  after  Earnest  and 
Charley  went  home,  she  sat  up  late,  and  read  it  very 
patiently,  as  follows : 

"  At  sixteen  years  of  age  I  was  at  school.  During 
the  last  year  I  had  lost  my  boyish  vivacity,  had  grown 
thoughtful,  retiring,  and  was  sometimes  much  depressed. 
I  had  begun  to  perceive,  to  reflect,  and  consider.  Who 
was  I  ?  What  was  around  me  ?  What  should  I  do  ? 
These  are  hard  questions,  and,  in  general,  the  last  one 
only  is  persistently  put.  But  they  had  all  occurred  to 
me,  and  I  could  not  rest  without  an  answer. 

"  I  did  not  consciously  say  so :  I  merely  opened  my 
eyes,  commencing  a  secret  and  silent  questioning  of  men 
and  things.  I  felt  strong  impulses,  premonitions,  and 
powers.  I  had  been  a  leader  among  boys.  But  now 


140  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

circumstances  and  regulations  displayed  their  checks.  I 
was  in  a  world  of  fashions,  precedents,  establishments. 
Wealth  was  the  special  crown  of  endeavor,  and  every 
one  was  seeking  to  wear  it.  It  was  a  despot.  It  or- 
dained castes,  like  the  Hindoo  theology.  It  was  the 
great  Bramin  of  American  society.  I  saw  that  it 
partially  excluded  me  from  certain  circles  into  which 
some  of  my  companions  might  enter.  These  circles 
dubbed  themselves  the  highest,  and  people  accepted  the 
assumption.  My  father  was  not  rich  :  he  had  accumu- 
lated and  lost :  comfort  was  left,  not  opulence.  Even 
then,  I  did  not  care  for  the  magnates  of  society,  as  I  saw 
them,  or  for  their  favors.  But  to  be  excluded,  looked 
down  upon,  slighted,  by  those  whom  I  could  not  regard 
as  my  superiors,  if  really  my  equals,  enraged  me  beyond 
measure.  Madame  Roland  herself  never  hated  the 
supercilious  rich  more  fiercely  than  I. 

"  Pardon  me ;  but  I  fancy  that  if  my  insight  had  been 
less  clear,'  I  should  have  now  started  with  the  rest,  in 
the  foot-race  for  dollars.  In  a  country  free  to  my  ex- 
ertions as  to  those  of  others ;  a  country  not  yoked  by  a 
titled  aristocracy,  only  by"  a  moneyed  class,  —  why 
could  I  not  climb  the  Mammonic  hill?  So  I  asked 
myself.  But  I  turned,  scanned  the  hill,  and  pro- 
nounced it  a  lie.  I  said  there  was  no  hill,  no  height 
there,  —  nothing  but  an  ant-heap  which  small  eyes  had 
magnified  to  the  Andes.  I  said  that  nothing  was  high 
but  lofty  manhood,  which  was  all  running  to  claws  for 
the  grasping  of  ingots. 

"  I  was  not  wholly  wrong ;  I  was  not  wholly  right. 
I  was  ambitious,  imaginative,  enthusiastic.  The  petti- 
ness of  the  rich,  and  their  meanness  in  accumulating 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  141 

wealth,  caused  me  to  detest  them,  to  wonder  at  the 
respect  paid  them  by  others,  and  at  the  airs  they  took 
upon  themselves.  They  seemed  to  me  among  the  least 
of  civilized  men.  Of  course  I  could  not  yet  perceive 
their  place  and  use  in  the  world,  though  it  is  as  definite 
and  necessary  as  any.  But,  as  I  have  told  you,  they 
sometimes  preferred  to  walk  alone,  —  not  at  my  side. 
Once  in  awhile  they  tossed  me  a  sneer.  How  I  scorned 
and  cursed  the  presumption.  They  were  superficial 
and  selfish ;  I  had  already  thought  and  loved.  I  was 
really  as  snobbish  as  they ;  only  I  would  not  recognize 
their  special  idol.  They  bowed  before  lucre ;  I  before 
culture  and  intellectual  strength.  My  worship  was  the 
better,  but  not  the  best.  That,  I  could  not  yet  per- 
ceive. 

"  Thus  I  doubted  society,  spurning  its  notions  and 
ways.  Its  ideas  of  life  were  not  mine ;  nor  its  ideas  of 
death.  Even  the  God  I  heard  it  proclaim,  I  could  not 
worship.  But  I  was  unable  to  peer  through  the  objects 
of  my  antagonism,  and  through  my  own  position  in  the 
midst  of  them.  So  I  sank  into  gloom,  without  a 
guide. 

*'  My  father,  a  man  like  the  spectral  Dane,  — 

•  •  •  '  take  him  for  all  in  all, 

I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again,'  — 

could  neither  gratify  my  longings,  nor  teach  me  the 
wisdom  to  forego  them.  His  kind,  self-sacrificing,  trust- 
ful heart,  had  no  experience  by  which  to  interpret  mine. 
He  was  astonished  at  what  he  had  never  before  seen  — 
settled  misanthropy  in  a  mere  boy.  He  was  cheerful, 


142  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

upright,  and  simple-minded,  with  such  perfect  faith  in 
the  ultimate  right,  that  he  did  not  ask  to  see  it.  He 
was  a  good  man,  without  caring  a  great  deal  whether  he 
was  regarded  so,  or  not ;  an  honest  man,  who  would  have 
been  just  as  honest  if  there  had  been  no  courts  or  jails 
in  the  universe, — simply  because  he  felt  it  sweet  and 
pleasant  to  be  honest ;  and  he  was  practically  a  Christian 
man,  without  knowing  or  believing  much  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal doctrine,  but  conceiving,  in  his  tender,  upright  soul, 
that  the  Golden  Rule  contained  the  substanc£  of 
religion.  In  short,  he  was  a  natural  man  in  an  arti- 
ficial epoch.  He  could  not  help  me.  Who  could  ? 

"  About  this  time  I  became  interested  in  the  strange, 
sad  poetry  of  Byron,  which  appealed  directly  to  my 
disconsolate,  combative  state  of  feeling. 

"  Prior  to  becoming  acquainted  with  the  '  noble  bard,' 
and  while  at  school,  I  had  gobbled  my  share  of  the 
common  novels  very  properly  termed  of  the  '  blood  and 
thunder '  description,  and  a  few  books  of  better  quality. 
Of  the  novels  I  soon  forgot  even  the  names ;  but  if  they 
had  all  been  piled  together,  and  called  '  The  Long- 
Bearded,  Big-Booted,  Bloody-Branded  Rover,  or  the 
Magic  Jib-Boom  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,'  this  appellation 
would  perhaps  have  rendered  a  general  notion  of  their 
calibre. 

"  When  about  eleven  years  old,  I  had  delighted  in  a 
well-known  sporting  paper,  and  had  read  accounts  of 
the  principal  English,  Irish,  and  American  pugilists. 
Then  I  was  ambitious  to  be  short  and  thick-set,  a  per- 
son of  superior  muscle,  handy  at  '  straight-out '  blows, 
'  upper-cuts '  and  '  under-cuts.'  I  did  not  quite  want 
to  go  into  the  ' ring*'  but  imagined  it  would  be  a  posi- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  143 

tive  accomplishment  to  have  the  prowess  and  the 
4  science  '  to  go  there,  while  yet  remaining  out. 

"  This  view  of  things  soon  passed  awray,  as  also  the 
desire  to  become  a  sailor,  —  with  which  *  the  Magic  Jib- 
Boom  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay '  had  inoculated  me  to  such 
an  umvholesome  degree,  that  like  many  another  foolish 
lad,  I  occasionally  determined  to  pack  up  my  trunk, 
depart  from  my  dear  old  father  and  loving  mother,  and 
become  a  second  and  mightier  '  Jib-Boom.' 

"  The  ring  and  the  sea  having  faded  from  my  vision, 
the  martial  hero  appeared.  Napoleon  —  what  a  man  was 
he  among  the  giants !  though  Murat,  his  dashing  mar- 
shal, with  the  high,  waving  plume,  seemed  in  some 
points  the  more  dazzling  leader. 

"  Thus  my  reading  had  advanced  from  the  idea 
of  strength  marvellous  and  monstrous,  to  the  idea  of 
strength  more  natural.  But  still  the  heroes  of  my 
collection  were  all  strong  men,  not  necessarily  good  ones. 
There  were  no  saints  among  them.  They  were  up- 
right and  generous,  and  truthful  enough  ;  —  because  it 
would  have  detracted  from  their  greatness  to  be  other- 
wise ;  —  good  fellows  as  well  as  mighty,  but  not  too 
much  hampered  by  any  strict  sense  of  duty. 

*'  The  heroes  we  Avorship,  are  our  ideals  embodied  and 
accomplished.  What  I  was  at  this  period,  in  my  cen- 
tral tone  of  mind,  in  my  feelings  and  wishes  —  without, 
of  course,  any  ability  to  execute  them  —  Achilles,  and 
Alcibiades,  and  Themistocles,  had  lived  and  acted  in 
Greece,  Caesar  and  Antony  in  Rome,  and  Napoleon  in 
modern  Europe.  These  were  all  powerful,  selfish  men 
of  the  world,  who  could  secure  what  they  sought  in  it, 
and  who  could  do  as  pleased  them  best. 


144  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

"  At  this  time  I  encountered  the  fiery  soul  of  Lord 
Byron,  through  his  '  Harold '  and '  Corsair,'  his  '  Vision,' 
his  '  English  Bards,'  and  his  '  Don  Juan.' 

"  Here,  again,  was  depicted,  in  the  most  wildly  fasci- 
nating colors  of  feeling  and  imagination,  mere  strength 
—  ambitious,  dark,  wasted  strength.  Yet  the  devil  in 
such  guise  seemed  more  beautiful  than  an  angel ;  and 
who  but  Byron  should  thenceforth  be  my  criterion  of 
greatness  ;  and  what  but  poetry  was  worth  man's  while 
beneath  the  sun. 

"  But  it  was  decided  that  I  must  engage  in  some  kind 
of  business.  I  was  offered  a  position  in  a  mercantile 
establishment,  and  took  it.  My  duties  were  light,  and 
I  had  several  hours  of  leisure  each  day.  Sometimes,  in 
fact,  I  could  have  almost  the  whole  day.  Without 
neglecting  my  business,  I  was  sure  to  occupy  the  spare 
time,  book  in  hand. 

"  Here  my  outward  life  was  floating  along  in  the 
quiet,  ordinary  channel.  But  my  mind  and  heart  were 
rolling,  surging,  and  tumbling,  far  out  on  a  stormy  sea. 
My  body  was  amid  the  surroundings  of  commerce.  My 
soul  was  scudding  on  chaos,  impelled  by  one  restless 
motor  —  ambition,  toward  one  goal  —  poetical  glory. 

"  How  could  I  be  happy  ?  When  alone,  if  not  apply- 
ing myself  relentlessly  to  some  book,  I  was  sure  to  be 
munching  my  sorrow.  I  took  every  occasion  for  retire- 
ment that  I  possibly  could.  I  seemed  out  of  place  in 
the  world,  and  the  world  seemed  sadly  out  of  place 
itself. 

" But  was  such  a  state  of  mind  independent?  Was 
it  not  derived  from  Byron's  influence  ? 

"  The  writings  of  Byron  first  brought  to  my  mind 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  145 

a  keen  inherent  taste  for  literature,  and  especially  for 
poetry.  Then  followed  the  ambition  to  convert  the 
taste  into  a  power.  From  the  exercise  of  the  power,  I 
desired  greatness,  glory.  So  far,  then,  the  influence  of 
Byron  merely  discovered  to  me  what  finally  appeared 
to  be  my  '  effectual  call,'  my  dearly  beloved,  my  chosen 
pursuit. 

"  But  why  the  melancholy  ?  Was  not  that  the  fruit 
of  the  bard's  morbid  hold  upon  a  young,  plastic  mind  ? 

"  No.  Byron's  influence  was  again  a  stim-ulant,  not 
a  cause.  It  only  came  to  properties  ready  and  waiting. 

"  What  covered  Byron  himself  with  gloom  ?  He 
broke  into  a  world  which  he  regarded  as  foolish,  frivo- 
lous, and  unkind;  its  people  little  in  aspiration  and 
endeavor  — '  tickled  with  a  straw ' ;  large  in  selfish- 
ness—  grasping  each  at  the  all  of  every  other  man. 
Their  pursuits,  so  important  and  engrossing  to  them- 
selves, seemed  to  him  the  mere  strivings  of  children  for 
a  larger  kind  of  toy-houses  than  their  infancy  delighted 
in,  and  for  a  play-ground  increased  in  extent  while 
diminished  in  innocence.  Their  conception  of  God 
was,  to  him,  a  variable  and  dubious  ogre ;  and  their 
conception  of  their  own  relation  to  their  Creator,  a 
matter  of  mere  assent  to  uncertain  formulas,  —  a  thing 
of  belief,  which  he  could  not  believe,  —  a  matter  of  set 
devotions,  church-presence,  and  water-drops.  And  he 
himself —  what  was  he  ?  Where  was  his  place  in  this 
odd,  interminable  labyrinth?  How  was  he  different 
from  the  rest?  unless,  indeed,  in  knowing  that  they 
could  not  be  right,  —  that  they  were  far  from  wise,  and 
that  he,  too,  was  more  distant  from  wisdom  than  even 
from  sympathy  and  harmony  with  them.  Was  he  not, 

13 


146  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

in  fact,  more  miserable,  more  pitiable  than  they  ?  They 
could  rest  secure  in  their  credence,  and  satisfied  with 
their  vocations.  However  sandy  the  foundation  of  the 
one,  or  trivial  the  pursuit  of  the  other,  to  them,  these 
things  were  stable,  and  important,  and  real.  While  he, 
searching  for  absolute  truth,  could  find  no  resting-place 
for  the  sole  of  his  foot ;  enamored  of  perfect  beauty, 
must  everywhere  drag  with  him,  in  quest  of  it,  a  poor 
body  touched  with  distortion ;  and  loving  justice  and 
right,  as  the  ideals  of  his  inmost  soul,  must  still  be  as 
painfully  conscious  of  incumbent  flesh-pots,  of  muddy 
promptings,  and  selfish,  savage  passions,  as  any  honest 
parson  that  ever  accepted  the  notion  of  total  depravity, 
or  dreaded  an  outward,  personal,  hotly-located  Devil. 

"  Strong,  wilful,  sad  man  !  —  a  groping  colossus 
amid  a  thousand  wondrously  charming  mirages,  where, 
for  want  of  an  abiding,  greenly-growing  faith,  all  was 
still  a  desert !  He  stood  on  the  crust  of  the  world  in  his 
time,  knowing  that  beneath  him  it  was  hollow,  —  the 
philosophy,  theology,  ethics,  all  mummies  dead  and 
buried,  but  wrapped  in  cerements  still  costly  and  vener- 
able, which  to  him  were  curious,  like  all  idols  of  man's 
historical  worship,  yet  which  could  not  seem  more 
than  dreams,  and  could  inspire  no  higher  sentiment 
than  an  occasional  half-tremor  of  fear,  as  at  the  possi- 
ble reality  of  ghosts.  Yes,  he  stood  on  the  surface  of 
creeds  and  customs,  and  stamping  with  his  heel,  broke 
them  through,  beholding  their  shallowness  and  falsity. 
Then  he  strained  his  eye  toward  the  heavens,  trying 
to  see  an  angel  who  could  yet  explain  to  him  how  this 
might  be,  and  be  well ;  —  how  altars  might  crumble 
and  fall,  and  still  the  altar  of  worship  be  ever  holy ; 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  147 

how  creeds  might  totter  and  tumble,  and  belief  still  be 
man's  halo  of  happiness ;  how  systems  of  religion 
could  be  false,  and  religion  itself  be  true ;  how  imper- 
fection, sin,  misery,  could  universally  abound,  and  man 
still  be  the  child  of  God,  created  for  a  blessing  to  him- 
self, and  a  joy  to  the  spheres.  He  strained  his  eye  to 
the  heavens,  but  the  heavens  gave  no  sign.  He  had 
not  yet  the  innate  charm  to  invoke  the  angel,  and  she 
could  not  come.  He  rolled  and  tossed  on  the  waves 
of  doubt  and  denial,  scarcely  even  approaching  the 
terra  firma  of  faith,  until  just  as  he  was  called  away 
from  the  shrine  of  muse  and  sage,  to  a  realm  which 
faith  alone,  as  it  seems,  can  discover  and  vivify. 

"  It  was  left  for  other  and  later  minds  to  accept  the 
same  doubt  and  denial,  —  to  perceive  the  barrenness  of 
creeds,  and  systems,  and  establishments  ;  —  then  to  rec- 
oncile this  perception  with  a  higher,  a  purified  belief. 
Byron  in  youth,  Goethe  in  youth,  were  the  symbols 
of  an  inevitable  dissatisfaction,  an  unavoidable  scepti- 
cism, which  the  ripeness  and  decay  of  old  institutions 
necessitated  for  the  regeneration  of  Europe.  Byron, 
the  young  man,  flamed  high,  and  then  went  out,  while 
the  symbol  was  unchanged ;  Goethe,  the  old  man, 
lived  to  see  that  the  youth,  Goethe,  was  miserable  and 
fantastic,  because,  perceiving  the  falsity  and  rottenness 
of  the  world's  standards  of  truth,  he  could  not  see 
beyond  his  own  scepticism.  But  to  the  old  man, 
truth  was  not  doubtful  or  dead,  while  many  things 
which  had  been  commonly  accepted  as  truths,  were 
forever  inhumed. 

"  But  what  could  a  poor  child,  like  myself,  know  of 
all  this  ?  Before  I  could  comprehend  it,  my  own  mind 


148  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

must  be  lifted  into  the  sunlight.  I  must  be  dashed 
against  some  sharp,  ragged  juts  of  experience  ;  must 
often  be  thrown  violently  in  upon  my  inmost  soul, 
to  wonder,  and  reflect,  and  suffer ;  must  mount  high 
on  many  a  towering  peak  of  thought,  borne  up  by 
other  intellects,  as  a  traveller  on  the  shoulders  of  some 
clear-headed,  sturdy  guide.  Now  I  was  a  boy.  I  had 
thought,  and  felt,  and  read  enough  to  doubt,  to  dis- 
credit, to  hesitate.  I  had  stumbled  on  questions  I 
could  not  answer ;  had  wept  and  despaired  over 
defects,  sins,  and  sorrows  —  my  own  and  others'  — 
which  I  could  not  penetrate  and  solve.  In  short,  my 
tone  of  mind  epitomized  in  miniature  the  chief  phase 
of  the  general  advance  of  mind  in  the  last  half  of  the 
eighteenth  centuiy,  and  the  earliest  part  of  the  nine- 
teenth. This  epoch  was  strangely  foreshadowed  in 
Shakespeare's  character  of  '  Hamlet ' ;  Britain  incar- 
nated it  in  Byron,  and  Germany  in  the  early  manhood 
of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  Voltaire  was  a  partial  embod- 
iment of  it ;  but  the  sprightly  Frenchman,  though  the 
essence  and  full-bloom  of  intellectual  scepticism,  had 
scarcely  the  central  earnestness  of  nature  to  be  un- 
happy about  any  thing.  Germany,  however,  possessed 
this  trait  in  a  most  remarkable  degree.  While  doubt- 
ing to  the  depths  of  negation,  the  German  soul  grew 
sorely  sick  of  doubt.  It  must  break  through  denial,  to 
something  better,  or  die.  So  Germany  built  up  the 
new  faith  of  to-day  ;  and  her  children  have  been  those 
*  semi-Greeks '  who  '  think  for  Europe,'  and  for  man- 
kind. 

"  Their  thought  is  now'  the  thought  of  the  nations. 
Byron  passed  away  from  Britain  ;  and  what  he  might 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  149 

have  been  had  he  longer  lived  ;  what  Goethe  was  in 
mature  years  ;  —  came  largely  to  life  in  an  odd,  sono- 
rous, angular  Scotchman,  Thomas  Carlyle.  France, 
whose  Pere  Bonhours  was  suspended  over  the  pool  of 
oblivion  by  a  single  thread,  according  to  that  same 
Scotchman,  in  memory  of  having  once  asked :  '  Si  un 
Allemand  pent  avoir  de  V esprit  ? '  —  France  received 
the  new  wine  into  her  very  best  mental  bottles,  from 
Madame  de  Stael  to  Victor  Hugo ;  and  it  has  become 
even  a  popular  beverage,  spiced  as  only  France  — 
nicely  discriminating,  critical,  executive  France  —  can 
flavor  the  riches  of  her  sunny  vineyards.  In  America, 
flowing  especially  through  the  deep,  deep,  but  clear 
crystal  goblet  of  Emerson,  and  through  the  broad, 
heavy  Saxon  mug  of  Theodore  Parker,  it  has  done 
much  more  than  editors  and  the  clergy  know,  to 
shatter  unsightly  decanters  of  Church  and  State,  and 
to  infuse  into  the  gigantic  young  Republic,  freedom  of 
body,  freedom  and  vigor  of  soul. 

"  I  said  that  the  frame  of  mind  which  enveloped  me, 
and  which  I  have  been  trying  to  describe,  was  a  sort 
of  summary  and  likeness  of  the  first  part  of  our 
century. 

"  I  had  lived,  as  it  were,  within  myself,  the  history 
of  the  world's  life,  up  to  a  certain  stage  of  its  develop- 
ment. 

"  Man,  as  his  records  portray  him,  was  at  first  a 
simple,  cruel,  superstitious,  pettish  being,  robust  and 
shaggy  in  body,  and  constantly  at  war,  family  with 
family,  tribe  with  tribe.  Large  physical  bulk,  with  cor- 
responding force  and  activity  —  ability  to  crush  ene- 
mies —  was  the  desire  of  the  aspiring,  was  the  one  constit- 

13* 


150  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

uent  of  greatness.  Some  Samson  or  Hercules  was  the 
great  man,  the  admired  of  swains  and  maids.  Mankind 
took  one  step  forward,  and  force  of  mind,  applied  to  the 
same  end  —  war  —  constituted  greatness  and  achieved 
glory.  The  man  who  could  plan  an  ambush,  invent  an 
arrow  or  spear,  was  plainly  more  powerful  than  one  of 
huger  body,  with  his  weighty  fist,  or  a  club.  Bigness  of 
proportion  —  brute  bulk  —  was  first  eminence  ;  then 
came  a  sort  of  cultivated  animalism  of  the  intellect :  — 
first  the  fighter,  whose  art  lay  in  his  height,  his  arms, 
his  thighs  ;  then  the  handy  bowman,  or  swordsman,  or 
organizer  of  men  into  companies. 

"  In  my  feelings,  in  my  ambition  and  imagination, 
I  had  been  each  of  these.  The  pugilist,  sporting- 
paper  in  hand,  proud  of  his  '  manly  art,'  is  nothing 
more  or  less  than  primordial  man  the  savage,  of  I  know 
not  how  many  thousand  years  ago.  The  alphabet  and 
broadcloth  have  not  essentially  changed  him.  When  I 
pictured  myself  as  '  The  Long-Bearded,  Big-Booted, 
Bloody-Branded  Rover,'  fighting  for  fame,  for  revenge, 
for  riches,  I  had  advanced  one  degree,  and  become  the 
fillibuster  —  Romulus,  or  Norman  William,  Spanish 
Pizarro,  or  William  Walker. 

"  Then  I  took  another  step. 

"  In  recognition  of  the  absolute  supremacy  of  intelli- 
gence, the  pen  had  been  declared  mightier  than  the 
sword.  I,  too,  felt  that  it  was  greater  to  think,  to 
know  and  declare,  than  to  wield  the  blade  of  the  soldier. 
Now  I  was  in  the  realm  of  intellect,  looking  down  upon 
physical  ambition  and  force.  I  wanted  them  not ;  but 
longed  to  command  fame  and  power  through  the  exer- 
cise of  thought  and  feeling.  How  far  had  I  grown  in 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  151 

my  wishes  and  objects  ?  From  the  savage  to  the  man 
of  letters.  It  seems  a  good  distance.  But  ambition 
was  the  incentive ;  glory,  power,  the  end.  For  fame  I 
would  have  brandished  the  pen  as  ferociously  as  ever  a 
Carib  his  club,  or  a  Gallican  his  battle-axe.  Not  quite 
indiscriminately,  right  or  wrong,  against  friend  or  foe  ; 
yet  almost  any  way  to  accomplish  the  purpose. 

"  Here  was  a  '  power-man,'  —  a  Mandingo  carried 
up  into  the  sphere  of  intelligence  and  refinement. 

"  It  is  a  most  unfortunate  temper  of  mind.  It  is  an 
exalted  mental  cannibalism.  It  is  still  mere  strength, 
grasping  for  its  object  —  fame,  wealth,  enjoyment, 
power:  — not  literally  eating  up  the  body  of  its  victim, 
not  necessarily  delighting  in  his  torture ;  —  for  the 
senses  have  become  sublimed ;  —  but  heedless  of  any 
fate  that  may  befall  him,  willing  to  submit  him  to  any 
fate,  if  only  he  stands  in  the  way.  What  cares  it,  re- 
ally and  inherently,  for  man  or  woman  ?  '  Self !  self ! ' 
is  its  cry,  — '  Give  !  give  ! '  • — '  What  I  crave,  that  will 
I  have!' 

"  Yet  such,  on  the  one  hand,  has  been  the  shout  of 
men,  the  shout  of  the  ages,  from  barbarism  to  the  high- 
est civilization. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  there  has  been  a  censor  and  di- 
rector—  conscience,  religion,  God.  Men  have  asked, 
when  self  demanded  a  thing,  '  Shall  I  do  it  ?  Dare  I 
take  it  ? '  They  have  said,  '  There  is  One  above ; 
there  is  duty  to  him.  Is  it  not  better  to  forego  this 
pleasure,  to  resist  this  temptation,  than  to  disobey  Him 
who  must  know  and  order  best  ? '  They  have  bowed 
and  believed  ;  they  have  constructed  systems  of  faith  ; 
they  have  obeyed. 


152  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  But  they  have  grown  also.  The  faith,  the  truth 
of  one  age,  has  been  the  doubt,  the  falsehood  of  the 
next.  And  the  breaking-up  of  a  special  faith,  too 
often,  perhaps  always  for  the  time,  brings  universal 
misgiving  and  disbelief.  Men  deny  a  certain  concep- 
tion of  God,  a  certain  standard  of  right,  which  they 
perceive  to  be  not  God,  not  right ;  but  alas  !  they  often 
see  no  farther  than  the  contradiction  :  they  doubt  God 
himself,  and  are  not  clear  that  right  exists.  Still, 
sense  clamors  for  its  dinner,  the  body  for  its  joys,  the 
mind  for  the  indulgence  of  its  appetites  and  tastes. 
Now  where  is  the  censor,  the  director  ?  What  voice 
shall  say :  '  Peace ;  be  still  ? '  At  most,  nothing  better 
than  the  higher  attributes  of  selfishness  —  refined 
calculations  and  fears  —  can  control  and  rectify.  Hu- 
manity may  then  be  courteous,  dignified,  sparkling ;  it 
cannot  be  conscientious,  it  cannot  be  good.  '  Vol- 
taire,' said  one  who  knew,  '  was  the  cleverest  of  all  men 
past  or  present ;  but  a  great  man  is  something  more, 
and  this  he  surely  was  not.'  No,  the  doubter,  the 
denier,  cannot  be  truly  great,  but  merely  strong  and 
smart.  Cultivated  antagonism  is  dexterity,  not  ability. 
Ability  journeys  with  the  stars  in  celestial  orbits.  It 
sits  in  God's  hand,  and  moves  with  that.  Where  that 
moves,  let  not  mere  power  —  man's  selfish  strength  — 
be  stationed,  thinking  to  stand.  It  must  bow  low,  and 
supplicate  for  light ;  or  it  shall  fall  crushed,  bleeding, 
dead  !  " 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

STELLA  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  wrapped  for  a 
few  minutes  in  deep  meditation.  Then  she  took 
up  the  manuscript  and  resumed  reading. 

"  I  have  endeavored  to  account,  from  my  own  expe- 
rience, for  the  cause  of  the  sadness,  violence,  and 
discontent,  which  have  pervaded  so  many  minds  and  so 
much  of  our  literature,  in  recent  days.  It  came  una- 
voidably from  the  growth  of  mind  itself,  which  had  be- 
come too  large  for  its  ancient  forms  of  belief  and  action, 
but  was  destined  to  grope  awhile  sullenly  in  the  dark, 
before  it  could  clothe  itself  with  better.  It  is  necessary 
for  every  soul  to  feel  that  it  is  of  use  in  the  world,  and 
to  hope  confidently  for  its  future  well-being,  if  it  is  to 
have  present  content.  How  much  we  are  dependent 
on  faith  !  It  smooths  all  our  actual  ills  into  future  bless- 
ings. The  poorest  faith  is  better  than  none.  But 
our  faith  is  always  dependent  on  our  perceptions ; 
even  if  we  perceive  nothing  more  than  good  grounds 
for  trusting  our  neighbor,  and  believing  as  he  does. 

"  When  thirteen  years  old,  being  of  Puritanical, 
orthodox  stock,  I  was  a  Calvinist,  just  as  I  should 
have  been  a  Mohammedan,  if  born  in  Constantinople, 
and  my  mother  had  attended  a  mosque.  That  is,  the 

(153) 


154  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

weight  of  local  circumstance  was  upon  me,  and  I  took 
its  assertions  for  granted. 

"  The  first  time  I  distinctly  contradicted  it,  was 
directly  on  this  point  of  sect.  A  well-meaning  man, 
with  a  low  forehead,  preached  the  everlasting  perdition 
of  all  Pagans,  Romanists,  Jews  and  sundry,  reserving 
a  contracted,  insipid  heaven  for  the  mouthful  of  men 
and  women  belonging  to  his  own  denomination.  I 
was  not  quite  fourteen.  I  asked  myself  —  doubting 
for  the  first  time  —  if  the  minister  could  be  right.  I 
never  insulted  my  God  but  once  by  so  foolish  a  ques- 
tion. In  twenty  seconds  I  had  broken  forever  from 
my  accidental  church. 

"  But  I  was  driven  to  think.  If  here  was  not  the 
truth,  where  should  I  find  it  ? 

"  I  never  doubted,  for  an  instant,  the  existence  of 
God.  I  could  not  doubt  it,  though  I  knew  not  the 
reason.  It  seemed  as  much  a  fact,  as  my  own  exist- 
ence. I  should  have  doubted  both,  if  one.  I  have 
since  read  many  writings  on  the  subject,  among  others, 
those  of  that  wonderful  anatomist  of  the  human  soul, 
Immanuel  Kant.  I  have  seen  that  our  faculties  rest 
directly  upon  the  idea  of  God,  —  that  they  cannot  take 
a  step  in  consideration  of  themselves,  or  in  any  direc- 
tion, without  it,  —  that  it  is  the  one  pivot  whereon 
each  and  all  of  them  swing.  But  at  the  time  of 
which  I  speak  —  in  my  boyhood  —  it  was  enough  for 
me,  as  for  the  world,  to  feel  the  fact ;  I  did  not  ask 
why.  Neither  did  I  demand  why  there  should  be  re- 
ligion —  man's  duty  to  God.  Its  germs  and  prompt- 
ings were  in  the  core  of  my  being.  I  might  as  well 
have  ignored  the  whole  of  my  nature  as  this  part.  It 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  155 

was  only  the  theology  that  I  began  to  rebel  against. 
But  they  told  me  the  theology  was  religion  —  the 
Christian  religion.  I  must  believe  it,  or  be  harried 
along  into  the  pit,  with  the  Pagans,  and  Catholics.  I 
concluded  to  go,  if  that  was  the  understanding.  But  it 
did  not  trouble  me  much.  The  doctrine  was  too 
absurd,  too  horribly  wicked,  to  inhere  long  in  a  healthy 
mind.  It  was  a  sort  of  pip,  to  which,  at  the  time,  as  a 
young  chicken,  I  was  liable. 

"  Yet  now  that  I  began  to  interrogate  them,  many 
other  doctrines  seemed  no  better.  Then  came  my  dis- 
avowal of  money  as  the  measure  of  worth ;  my  long- 
ings for  intellectual  power  and  fame.  They  could  not 
be  gratified  ;  and  it  was  well.  The  period  of  negation 
anc^  subversion  had  been  fully  represented.  Construct- 
ive minds  were  already  in  manly  vigor,  though  I  knew 
not  of  them.  Within  a  day's  ride  were  two  of  the 
loftiest  in  the  world.  But  it  was  to  be  several  years 
before  I  could  grope  my  way  to  them,  as  there  was  no 
sympathetic  soul  to  guide  me.  So  what  with  my  ambi- 
tion, my  doubts,  and  the  knowledge  of  my  sins  and  im- 
perfections, down  I  dropped  into  the  misanthropy  that 
I  have  referred  to. 

"  Poetry,  as  a  pursuit  and  solace,  was  here  para- 
mount. I  loved  Byron  and  his  thrashings  of  hypocrisy, 
with  all  my  heart.  I  liked  thrashings  in  general.  I 
thought  the  world  needed  all  it  ever  received.  I  ached 
to  thrash  it  myself.  But  instead,  it  was  giving  me  the 
knout,  as  I  needed. 

"  No  modern  poem  helped  me  much,  except '  Festus.' 
For  I  craved  something  that  would  lift  me  to  a  sight  of 
the  axis  of  the  universe.  Then  I  could  perhaps  dis- 


156  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

cover  why  I  was  whirling  around  it.  '  Festus '  is  a 
fair  attempt  to  do  this.  It  has  been  a  strenuous  aid  to 
many.  It  is  the  crystallization  of  Universalism,  and 
the  doctrine,  like  the  crystal,  sparkles  with  manifold 
hues  of  love.  But  the  book  and  the  teaching  are  theo- 
logical and  mythological.  They  are  the  half-way-house 
between  '  Orthodoxy '  and  rational  Christianity. 

"  Meanwhile  I  read  some  of  the  sceptical  writers  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  I  could  not  but  credit  many  of 
their  statements.  But  they  appeared  cold,  suspicious, 
mental.  They  did  not  sufficiently  distinguish  between 
religion  and  theology  ;  but  inclined  to  ridicule  both.  I 
read  some  of  the  chief '  Evidences  of  Christianity,'  an- 
cient and  modern ;  but  never  found  one  that  gave  me 
any  satisfaction. 

"  At  last,  a  plain,  quaint  man  put  into  my  hands  a 
book  of  Theodore  Parker's  sermons.  Theodore  Par- 
ker !  Who  was  he  ?  I  had  seen  his  name  in  the 
papers ;  I  had  heard  him  called  an  *  infidel.'  That, 
I  knew,  sometimes  meant  a  man  who  doubted  mir- 
acles ;  sometimes  one  who  doubted  the  '  Fugitive  Slave 
Bill.'  I  had  heard  Beecher  called  an  '  infidel ; '  but 
on  reading  his  discourses,  had  found  only  a  great,  mu- 
nificent heart,  near  to  God  and  man,  but  not  very 
different  in  leading  ideas  from  my  first  good  parson. 
It  seems  astonishing  now,  that  I  did  not  sooner  find 
something  to  lead  me  to  Theodore  Parker.  But  I 
fancied  him  a  clever  preacher,  like  Beecher  or  Chapin, 
—  stronger,  broader,  better,  but  not  mucl^  higher  than 
others.  I  loved  these  men  ;  but  they  had  not  the  kind 
of  light  I  needed.  My  friend  loved  them  too.  But  he 
said,  as  he  gave  me  the  volume  of  sermons  :  '  You  will 
find  your  doctor  here.' 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  157 

"  He  was  right.  Here,  indeed,  was  the  first  glimpse 
I  ever  had  of  an  American  giant,  standing  up,  head 
and  shoulders,  with  the  loftiest  thinkers  of  the  human 
race.  The  others  had  been  cramped  and  insulated. 
I  had  now  come  upon  a  spiritual  cosmopolitan.  Horsed 
on  a  score  of  languages,  he  had  sped  through  the 
literature  of  all  times  and  all  places.  What  men 
had  anywhere  thought,  what  they  had  felt,  what  they 
had  done,  that  he  knew.  Could  Napoleon  sit  on  his 
horse  sixteen  or  eighteen  hours  a  day  ?  Here  was  an 
iron  man,  who  could  keep  the  saddle  of  letters  as  long, 
day  in  and  day  out,  preaching,  praying,  and  feed- 
ing the  poor  besides.  Where  was  the  scholar  out  of 
Germany,  or  even  there,  in  the  land  of  students,  who 
was  so  intent  and  so  laborious  ?  Had  there  been  col- 
leges in  New  England  or  Old  ?  libraries  at  Alexandria 
or  Rome,  Paris  or  London  ?  Their  use  was  plain. 
Here  was  a  mind  that  engulfed  them  like  a  maelstrom. 
He  had  watched  the  growth  of  his  race  from  its  baby- 
hood to  the  year  of  our  Lord  1855.  It  was  refreshing 
to  get  into  the  wake  of  this  '  Great  Eastern.'  Of 
course  I  had  no  silly  fear  of  going  down  in  so  tremen- 
dous a  vortex  as  his  intelligence.  Only  snivellers  told 
me  that  great  knowledge  made  great  demons  and  fools. 

"  It  would  take  me  too  long  to  enumerate  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  change  through  which  my  mind  now 
passed,  and  to  mention  all  the  sturdy  aids  to  its  reflec- 
tion. Theodore  Parker,  however,  immediately  guided 
me  to  the  books  and  the  men  I  had  been  groping  to 
find.  He  knew  them  all ;  and  still  better,  he  had  com- 
pressed their  labors  into  his  own.  What  gave  him  a 
great  advantage,  too,  was  that  while  the  best  new 
14 


158  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

thought  and  research  glowed  in  his  furnace,  he  could 
pound  as  no  other  man,  with  the  olden  hammer  of 
Scotch  logic.  His  facts  were  all  in  order  and  degree. 
The  executive  English  and  American  mind  needed  this. 
It  could  understand  him,  while  it  could  not  grasp  the 
single  deeper  intellect,  which  he  himself  pointed  out  as 
such,  saying,  as  he  referred  to  his  friend  Emerson : 
'  America  had  seen  no  such  sight  before.'  Surely  our 
land  had  not.  '  That  great,  new  star,  a  beauty  and  a 
mystery,'  was  the  one  orb  which  shed  a  brighter,  a 
keener  effulgence,  than  the  mammoth  reflector  at  Music 
Hall. 

"  But  many  minds,  I  think,  have  seen  Emerson 
through  Parker.  Many  have  received  all  the  former's 
light  they  could  contain,  by  means  of  the  latter,  while 
they  could  scarcely  have  received  any  of  it  without 
him. 

"  A  Boston  merchant  of  practical  sense,  and  a  good 
reader,  once  told  me  he  did  not  believe  Emerson  ever 
knew  what  he  wrote  or  talked  about.  I  considered  it 
preposterous  to  discuss  the  matter,  and  so  asked  him 
what  he  thought  of  Theodore  Parker. 

"  '  Theodore  Parker,'  he  answered,  '  was  the  greatest 
man  that  ever  lived ;  he  knew  everything.' 

"  The  difficulty  was  that  my  friend  the  merchant, 
had  a  tough,  formal,  Saxon  head,  and  could  only  per- 
ceive truth  by  means  of  authority  and  the  customary 
arrangement.  Ordered  as  it  came  immediately  from 
intuition,  and  in  Emerson's  hydraulic  pressure  of  style, 
in  which  sentences  mean  centuries,  it  was  impossible 
for  the  man  to  comprehend  it. 

"Well,  Emerson  and  Parker  became  my  sages,  as 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  159 

through  them  I  could  behold  a  universe  fit  to  live  in, 
and  a  God  large  enough  and  good  enough  to  be  really 
the  Father  of  all  his  creatures.  With  the  service  of 
an  extra  language  or  two,  it  was  easy  to  consult  and 
compare  other  vast  minds.  In  fact,  the  busy  brains  of 
scholars  were  bringing  every  Grecian,  Roman,  Ger- 
man and  Frenchman,  to  speak  first-rate  English  ;  and 
as  I  was  after  thought,  not  its  clothes,  I  always  struck 
for  the  substance  where  I  could  obtain  it  most  readily. 

"  In  five  or  six  years  from  the  day  I  stumbled  upon 
the  question  of  perdition  for  pretty  nearly  the  entire 
race  of  man,  I  had  gone  over  considerable  ground, 
clearing  up  that  matter,  with  several  of  its  surround- 
ings. I  could  take  my  '  catechism  '  to  pieces  and  put  it 
together  again,  so  that  it  was  intelligible  to  me.  I  had 
ascertained  when,  how,  and  why,  its  component'  parts 
came  out  of  that  human  nature  which  was  my  human 
nature. 

"  I  had  found,  to  begin  with,  that  '  Religion  is  no 
more  to  be  confounded  with  Theology,  than  the  stars 
with  Astronomy.'  Religion  is  always  duty  to  God  as 
best  one  knows.  Theology  is  always  man's  conception 
of  God ;  and  it  varies  according  to  the  wisdom  or  folly 
of  the  man.  But  to  perform  our  duty  to  God,  we 
must  have  some  idea  of  Him.  So  far,  religion  is 
dependent  on  theology.  Yet  as  soon  as  man  acknow- 
ledges himself  to  be  finite,  and  God  to  be  infinite,  he 
owns  that  he,  the  finite,  cannot  possibly  have  a  com- 
plete conception  of  the  Infinite,  —  only  of  some  of  its 
attributes,  as  wisdom,  justice,  goodness.  This  is  the 
end  of  theology,  which  is  the  attempt  of  the  mind  to 
construct  God,  and  which,  in  one  direction,  invariably 


160  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

leads  to  idolatry  of  a  physical  or  spiritual  kind.  Theo- 
logy is  itself  the  breaking  of  the  first  two  command- 
ments. It  carries  the  soul,  however,  —  if  not  to  the 
possibility  of  defining  and  picturing  God,  yet  to  an  idea 
of  Him  as  all-wise,  all-just,  all-good  :  that  is,  Self-con- 
ditioned Perfection.  Let  us  not  try  to  name  It.  It  is 
ineffable.  Yet  if  we  mean  this,  we  may  call  it  God. 

"  If  we  have  found,  then,  that  perfect  wisdom,  jus- 
tice, goodness,  is  that  of  God  which  we  may  know, 
what  is  Religion  ?  Is  it  not  the  imbibing  by  us  of  these 
attributes  ?  —  the  resignation  of  our  nature  to  their 
nature  ?  —  the  approach  to  God  by  receiving  God  into 
us  ?  Underlying  all  nominal  religions,  all  forms  of 
worship,  I  found  such  to  be  their  essence  and  intent. 

"  My  Sunday-school  teachers  had  told  me  that  the 
Jews  alone,  of  all  ancient  peoples,  were  believers  in 
One  God.  I  found  that  the  foremost  souls  of  all  times, 
had  looked  to  one  source  whence  all  things  proceeded, 
quite  as  certainly  as  had  any  of  my  mistaken  instruct- 
ors. 

"  The  contemplative  Bramin  among  Hindoos,  the 
scientific  priest  of  Amun  or  Osiris  among  Egyptians, 
believed  inevitably  in  the  existence  of  One  Supreme 
God,  and  did  not  attempt  to  portray  Him.  But  the 
creative,  the  conserving,  the  destructive  attributes  of 
this  supreme  One,  were  imaged  in  every  variety  of 
form,  and  before  these  images  the  people  bowed  down 
with  orisons.  The  aristocratic  priest  despised  the 
masses,  deeming  it  hopeless,  even  wicked,  to  teach 
them  religious  truth,  except  by  solemn  ceremonies  and 
mystic  symbols.  Moses  came.  He  was  the  religious 
democrat  of  antiquity.  He  was  the  adopted  son  of  a 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  161 

king,  and  so  educated,  it  is  said,  in  the  inner  sense  of 
the  Egyptian  worship.  At  any  rate,  like  every 
thinker,  he  pierced  through  all  emblems  to  their  cen- 
tre ;  and  taking  the  conception  of  One  God,  made  him 
the  special  deity  of  the  Hebrews,  as  he  had  been  the 
God  of  Abraham  and  of  every  other  lofty  soul.  The 
conception  was  doubtless  somewhat  changed,  somewhat 
purified  in  his  mind.  But  the  principal  change  was  in 
popularizing  it,  —  in  setting  it  up  for  the  adoration  of  a 
whole  people.  And  more  than  a  thousand  years 
elapsed,  before  the  children  of  Israel  could  fully  adopt 
it,  permanently  casting  aside  the  idols  which  Moses  had 
condemned. 

"  There  has  been  Fetichism  in  the  world ;  there 
has  been  Polytheism.  The  Egyptian  prostrated  him- 
self before  a  winged  bull,  a  serpent,  or  a  cross.  The 
Persian  saluted  the  orb  of  day  at  his  coming.  The 
Chaldean  kissed  his  hand  to  the  starry  host  of  heaven. 
Often  both  priest  and  people  mistook  the  symbol  for 
the  sense,  as  now  they  do,  in  all  nations  and  under  all 
forms  of  religion.  But  there  never  was  a  Moses,  a 
Minos,  a  Zoroaster,  a  Confucius,  a  Budha,  a  Pythago- 
ras, —  never  a  great  leader  and  type  of  a  momentous 
epoch,  —  who  did  not  reach  the  import  of  all  rituals, 
all  representations,  and  bow  lowly  to  the  one  God. 

"  Having  learned  the  fact,  I  was  no  longer  troubled 
with  the  notion  of  a  haughty  and  jealous  Deity,  the 
patron  of  a  chosen  people.  God  had  chosen  all  the 
peoples  to  do  his  will. 

"  In  fact,  it  was  not  so  very  difficult  to  dig  to  the 
bottom  of  the  many  doctrines  which  had  perplexed 
and  stung  me.  I  ascertained  that  they  had  all  some- 

14* 


162  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

thing  to  rest  on.  They  were  true  in  essence,  false  in 
the  acceptation.  They  were  in  nowise  *  mysteries,' 
which  could  be  accepted  by  faith  alone.  They  were 
fundamental  facts  of  the  soul,  which  had  been  warped, 
at  different  historical  epochs,  into  special  and  local 
phases. 

"  The  Trinity,  of  all  doctrines,  contradicted  most 
emphatically  my  favorite  study  of  geometry.  Three 
Gods  in  one  ;  and  each  part  equal  to  the  whole  !  The 
conception  turned  one's  mind  upside  down.  Yet  it 
was  true ;  and  now  I  could  assert  it.  There  is  God 
the  Father,  —  the  infinite  wisdom,  justice,  goodness. 
He  has  created  man  to  receive  these  properties  infi- 
nitely, and  thus  to  be  His  infinite  Son.  The  universe 
is  infinite  in  its  means  of  suggesting  holiness  to  man, 
and  of  impressing  rectitude  upon  him :  it  is  the  infinite 
Holy  Ghost. 

"  The  Incarnation,  really  a  part  of  the  former  doc- 
trine, had  also  afflicted  me.  I  found  that  five  thousand 
years  ago,  it  had  been  believed  in  India.  There, 
devout,  ascetic,  mystical  men,  had  retired  from  the 
active  world  to  the  forest  and  the  mountain,  devoting 
their  lives  to  contemplation.  They  deemed  matter  and 
its  forms  an  illusion.  Man's  highest  good  was  to 
crucify  and  ignore  the  flesh,  and  to  be  absorbed  into 
the  one  only  Being  and  Reality,  Brahm.  They  imag- 
ined that  by  prayers,  and  penances,  and  austerities, 
they  could  become  incorporated  in  the  Divine  Essence, 
could  incarnate  God,  could  be  God,  as  it  were,  while 
yet  on  earth. 

"  This  was  the  grandest  effort  of  piety,  the  most  ex- 
alted dream  of  poetry,  then  or  since  in  the  world.  On 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 


the  threshold  of  time,  the  sons  of  God  lifted  their 
hands  to  Heaven,  saying :  '  Our  Creator,  let  us  come 
to  Thee.  Let  us  come  into  thine  inmost  spirit,  thine 
inmost  life  ! '  What  other  prayer  is  worth  our  while  ? 
What  other  prayer  has  been  uttered  since,  which  this 
supplication  does  not  include? 

"  Our  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation  was  virtually  a 
portion  of  Asiatic  theology,  probably  before  the  race 
could  write  their  record.  It  inheres  in  human  nature 
itself,  and  if  we  could  trace  it  to  its  origin,  we  should 
doubtless  find  it  as  old  as  man's  aspirations  for  the 
Better,  for  the  Best.  From  India  it  appears  to  have 
travelled  to  Egypt,  or  wherever  there  was  a  brain  fine 
enough  to  hold  it ;  from  Egypt  to  Greece,  with  Py- 
thagoras and  Plato ;  from  Plato  it  entered  the  heads 
of  the  Hellenistic  Jews  ;  and  from  the  author  of  the 
gospel  John,  was  finally  reflected,  with  a  special  appli- 
cation, into  the  Christian  Church.  Its  essence  and 
meaning  is,  that  man's  nature  may  draw  upon  all  the 
omnipotence  of  the  Divine,  and  by  faithful  obedience, 
may  become  that  which  it  serves. 

"  As  I  think  of  the  age  and  venerableness  of  our 
crude  theological  tenets,  if  understood  in  their  deepest 
and  universal  sense ;  still  more,  as  I  think  of  their 
underlying  truth  and  value ;  I  do  not  wonder  at  the 
tenacity  with  which  strong  and  good  men  have  held 
them.  I  do  not  wonder  I  was  told  to  believe,  not  in- 
quire. The  Christian  Religion,  which  is  pure  love  to 
God  and  love  to  man,  —  containing  the  most  blessed 
benefactions  of  morality,  of  mercy,  of  fidelity,  ever  pro- 
claimed, —  was  destined  to  wear  for  a  garment  through 
the  centuries,  all  the  great  philosophical  truths  of  the 


164  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

human  intellect.  If  the  garment  has  proved  coarse 
when  the  times  have  been  rough,  —  if  it  has  been  a 
wolf-skin  to  the  wolves'  eyes  of  our  shaggy  Scandi- 
navian sires,  —  what  matter  ?  It  was  to  serve  them  as 
they  needed;  then  to  be  of  finer  service  to  more  re- 
fined epochs. 

"  As  the  doctrines  I  have  referred  to  were  relieved 
of  locality,  and  bore  universal  significance,  the  others 
were  soon  enough  cleared  up. 

"  The  Atonement,  I  had  been  taught,  was  the  sacri- 
fice of  the  Divine  Nature  to  itself,  for  the  good  of  men. 
God  sent  his  Son  into  the  world,  to  suffer  and  die,  that 
the  world  might  be  saved.  This  idea,  too,  I  found  to 
be  as  ancient  as  any  primeval  records.  In  the  Hindoo 
theology,  Vishnu,  representing  the  preservative  powers 
of  God,  had  often  been  incarnated  in  mortal  shape,  to 
fulfil  some  beneficent  mission  on  the  earth.  Said 
Nareda  to  Crishna :  '  Men,  who  are  buried  in  the  pit 
of  their  passions,  have  no  possibility  of  escape  from  their 
control,  except  by  thy  mercy  in  consenting  to  be  born 
into  this  transient  world ! ' 

"  True  enough  !  How  shall  we  receive  the  spirit  of 
God  —  our  sole  salvation  —  unless  some  loftier  brother, 
by  containing  more  of  it  than  we  possess,  brings  it  down 
to  us  ?  But  shall  we  accept  it  gladly  when  it  comes  ? 
Oh,  no !  We  are  dead  in  Mammon  and  in  mummeries. 
We  shall  say  that  our  more  gifted  brother  is  not  of  God, 
but  of  the  devil ;  for  we  cannot  understand  him.  We 
shall  slay  him,  or  banish  him,  for  interfering  with  the 
little  gods  we  had  been  acciistomed  to  regard. 

"  If  a  Budha  comes  to  love  the  poor  Hindoo ;  to  throw 
the  yoke  of  caste  from  his  neck ;  to  elevate  him  to  a 


* 
LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  165 

more  spiritual  adoration ;  —  the  groveller  will  turn  to 
crash  the  saint  or  his  disciples,  —  to  annihilate  them,  or 
drive  them  into  exile.  Yet  it  shall  be  seen,  in  two  or 
three  thousand  years,  that  a  third  of  the  whole  human 
race  shall  worship  God  in  the  name  of  Budha,  as  we 
see  to-day.  If  a  son  of  wisdom  and  sanctity  is  born  in 
Athens,  believing  that  absolute  justice  is  the  one  thing 
to  live  for,  he  must  go  straight  to  prison,  and  drink 
hemlock.  Then,  for  a  recompense,  the  sage  of  every 
generation"  shall  borrow  weight  from  him,  and  civiliza- 
tion shall  convert  his  thoughts  into  laws,  for  the  govern- 
ment of  nations.  If  the  most  loving  heart  ever  in  flesh, 
descends  into  Judea,  they  will  crucify  him  between  two 
thieves,  and  afterward,  impressed  with  his  heavenliness, 
will  declare  that  it  was  the  Creator  himself  who  came 
down  to  suffer  and  die. 

"  Yes,  persecuted  sons  of  God  are  ever  atoning  to 
Him,  with  his  own  goodness  embodied  in  them,  for  the 
sins  of  all  the  children  of  men. 

"  Why  dwell  on  the  other  doctrines  that  in  my  child- 
hood I  had  heard  preached?  All  the  principal  ones 
were  sectarian  applications  of  universal  truths,  which 
had  always  existed  where  there  had  been  souls  to  aspire 
and  minds  to  reflect. 

"  Even  the  monster  of  Everlasting  Punishment,  which 
I  had  so  detested,  I  observed  to  have  a  true  side.  It  is 
this.  Our  souls  are  finite.  If  so,  we  must  sometimes 
err,  we  must  sometimes  sin.  Only  the  possession  of 
absolute  perfection  could  enable  us  to  avoid  doing  so. 
But  then  we  should  be  God.  When  we  err,  or  sin,  the 
retribution  must  follow,  —  in  this  world,  in  any  world, 
in  all  worlds.  It  is  our  discipline ;  it  helps  us  to  improve 


166  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

upon  the  last  act.  In  this  sense,  indeed,  we  are  per- 
petually punished,  but  perpetually  blessed,  as  well. 

"  The  doctrine,  however,  as  established  by  the 
Romish  church,  Avas  unique.  There  was  no  such  mad 
.  cruelty  in  the  former  Paganisms.  Rome  had  become  the 
earth's  cess-pool  of  blood  and  crime.  The  notion 
emanated  from  the  interpretations  of  this  Roman  people, 
without  imagination,  who  could  perceive  no  second 
sense  in  Oriental  symbols,  who  for  their  daily  pastime 
tossed  men  and  women  to  wild  beasts,  and  whose  hearts 
fluttered  with  ecstasy,  as  human  heads,  limbs,  and  en- 
trails were  torn  and  strewn  before  them  by  the  teeth 
and  claws  of  lions  or  tigers.  Through  no  other  medium 
could  the  merciful  teachings  of  Jesus  have  been  dragged 
and  harrowed  to  such  depth  of  distortion. 

"  Still,  it  is  God's  way  that  nothing  is  lost.  The 
doctrine  had  its  use.  For  several  centuries,  many 
rough-riding  ancestors  of  some  House  of  Lords,  were 
doubtless  flogged  into  mercy  to  the  poor,  if  not  sympathy 
with  the  free,  by  the  threat  of  being  everlastingly  flayed 
in  Hell.  And  many  a  baronial  or  kingly  foot-pad  was 
crushed  by  it  into  something  like  justice  in  governing 
his  people.  It  was  a  requirement  of  the  times.  Sav- 
age men  needed  savage  restraints.  Now  it  is  empty, 
cumbrous,  and  almost  ludicrous. 

"  But,  my  friend,  Christianity  itself  is  not  at  all 
shaken  or  impaired,  by  riddling  the  doctrinal  coat  of 
mail  which  has  so  long  encased  it.  To  the  powerful 
deniers  of  the  last  century,  it  sometimes  seemed  to  fall, 
as  they  stripped  off  contradiction  and  mythology,  shred 
after  shred.  But  criticism  has  only  left  the  per- 
son, the  character  and  mission  of  Jesus,  as  bright  and 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  167 

hallowed  as  ever,  while  it  has  rendered  them  clearer 
and  dearer,  as  being  wholly  consistent  with  the  mind 
and  soul  of  man.  Simply  by  a  comprehension  of  the 
Roman  Empire  in  the  year  1,  it  has  disburdened 
Christianity  of  the  miraculous,  in  the  sense  that  a 
miracle  is  ever  a  monster  which  breaks  a  natural  law ; 
and  at  the  same  time  it  has  relieved  the  manhood  of 
Jesus  from  all  mythical  and  abnormal  apotheosis. 

"  Nineteen  centuries  ago,  almost  the  whole  known 
world  had  been  sucked  into  the  dominion  of  the  seven- 
hilled  City ;  and  the  talent  of  practical,  executive 
action,  rendering  such  absorption  possible,  had  en- 
grossed about  all  the  physical  and  mental  energy  of  the 
epoch,  leaving  scarcely  any  material  for  the  embodi- 
ment of  imaginative,  intuitive,  spiritual  natures.  Old 
faiths  were  breaking  up.  They  retained  but  a  slight 
hold  on  the  learned,  but  were  regarded  as  a  necessary 
part  of  State.  The  people  —  the  populace  —  the  vul- 
gar—  have  now  no  parallel  on  earth.  They  were 
submerged  and  overwhelmed  in  ignorance,  superstition, 
and  every  unspeakable  abomination.  Miracles  were 
universally  credited,  and  were  inevitably  attributed  to 
the  exponents  of  all  religions.  Magic  was  as  eagerly 
accepted  as  it  is  now  contemptuously  discarded. 

"  At  such  an  epoch  Jesus  appeared.  He  came  in 
the  midst,  and  out  of  the  Jews,  —  a  people  who,  even 
then,  were  a  proverb  for  backwardness  and  superstition. 
But  they  had  held,  through  all  dangers,  trials,  and  diffi- 
culties, to  an  unswerving  and  sublime  trust  in  their  god, 
Jehovah,  who  was  to  unite  their  divided  tribes,  exalt 
them  to  material  power  and  splendor,  and  give  them 
regnancy  over  all  nations.  Jesus  incarnated  this 


168  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

national  trust ;  but  in  him  it  was  elevated  to  the  bounds 
of  utmost  spiritual  insight,  and  was  modified  by  the 
most  loving  heart  ever  in  flesh.  So  the  haughty  and 
narrow  Jewish  conception  of  God  —  the  Jehovah  —  be- 
came in  his  mind  the  bounteous  and  merciful  Father  of 
all  mankind.  Furthermore,  '  he  saw  that  God  incar- 
nates himself  in  man,'  —  that  man's  nature  is  a  germ 
for  the  infinite  reception  of  God's  nature :  and  never 
for  an  instant  questioning  the  great  truths  which  his 
spirit  prompted  him  to  teach,  he  declared  that  the  au- 
thority for  them  was  God  himself.  He  proclaimed  the 
Father's  truth.  In  that  truth,  then,  the  Father  and 
he  were  one. 

"  But  who  was  rightly  to  comprehend  this  sublime 
'  Poet  of  the  soul  ?  '  The  whole  epoch  was  sunk  in 
the  lust  of  aggrandizement  and  the  grossest  materi- 
alism. Probably  there  were  not  twelve  minds  on  the 
earth  of  sufficiently  celestial  texture  to  understand  the 
thought  of  Jesus  precisely  as  he  understood  it.  More 
than  once,  it  seems,  he  sickened  and  grieved  at  the  ob- 
tuseness  of  his  very  disciples.  Then,  when  the  innate 
sweetness  and  truth  of  his  precepts  began  to  force  their 
acceptance,  —  first  among  the  poor  and  lowly,  who 
needed  in  that  age  of  shocking  corruption  and  innumer- 
able rituals,  some  religion  that  could  touch  the  soul  and 
purify  the  life,  —  then  all  the  notions,  exaggerations,  and. 
subtilties  of  the  time,  began  also  to  creep  into  the  most 
natural  and  beautiful  faith  ever  breathed  to  mortal 
ear.  Then,  for  five  centuries,  the  immense  fabric  of 
theological  dogmas  was  gradually  constructed.  Men 
talked,  and  wrote,  and  contended  about  it,  differing  as 
much  as  they  differ  now.  They  bruised  each  others' 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  169 

faces  in  street-fights  ;  they  skewered  each  others'  bodies 
in  pitched  battles.  At  last  it  became  a  thing  settled 
by  authority.  What  authority.  Practically  the  Ro- 
man State.  It  rested  on  what  ?  The  votes  of  a  ma- 
jority. It  was  a  necessity  of  the  time.  Now  it  is 
neither  necessary  nor  true ;  and  therefore  is  so  fast 
dropping  away. 

"  But  the  religion  of  Jesus,  —  that  perfect  faith  in 
God  as  the  Giver  of  his  very  Self  to  man,  —  which 
includes  the  Golden  Rule,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  fidelity  of  the  blood  which 
dripped  from  the  cross  — ^  symbol  of  man's  last  sublime 
duty  to  his  Maker :  —  we  need  not  fear  that  this  relig- 
ion can  pass  away  from  our  faith.  Its  stability  is  its 
truth.  It  is  founded  on  human  nature,  which  is 
founded  on  God.  It  is,  in  one  sense,  the  condition  on 
which  every  loftiest  soul  has  been  born  into  the  world. 
Plato  was  the  philosopher  of  all  time,  because  he  saw 
and  expounded  through  the  intellect,  what  Jesus  per- 
ceived and  declared  through  the  heart.  Socrates  was 
wise  and  grand,  because  he  too  went  down  to  death 
for  the  same  essential  justice  that  Christianity  affirms. 
Budha  has  four  hundred  millions  of  followers,  because, 
long  before  Christ,  he  taught  something  of  Christian 
mercy  to  the  downtrodden  children  of  Asia.  Confu- 
cius was  the  sage  of  China,  because  some  of  his  best 
precepts  are  Christian  commands. 

"  Let  us  truly  understand  this  religion,  my  friend, 
and  we  shall  never  be  deprived  of  a  bright,  serene, 
immovable  faith." 

15 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"  A  RATHER  strange-thinking,  plain-speaking  in- 
J\.  dividual,  that  same  Mr.  Acton,"  said  Cora,  after 
Stella  had  finished  the  manuscript,  which,  notwith- 
standing Earnest's  warning  as  to  its  heaviness,  had 
been  read  aloud  at  Cora's  request. 

"  I  wonder  how  one  dares  attempt  to  unriddle  the 
world.  Why  not  be  as  good  as  we  can,  without  talk- 
ing about  it  ?  Now  I  shall  lie  awake  half  the  night, 
perhaps,  and  who  knows  but  I  shall  be  disputing, 
pretty  soon,  with  Pa,  and  Captain  Bub,  and  my  min- 
ister, Dr.  Bugle  himself.  How  Earnest  takes  every- 
thing to  heart !  I  never  would  have  bothered  myself 
with  all  those  questions.  Yet  his  experience,  he  de- 
clares, is  the  experience  of  thousands.  Do  you  think 
so,  Stella?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  literally  so,"  Stella  replied  ;  "  I 
don't  think  he  means  that.  I  think  he  means  thou- 
sands have  had  the  same  doubts  as  his,  with  the  same 
consequent  gloom,  which  they  have  passed  through,  to 
arrive  at  a  similar  result.  Besides,  every  one  has  his 
own  special  imp  of  darkness  to  harass  him  in  life,  in 
addition  to  the  foolish  beliefs  and  fancies  of  the  world. 
With  him,  it  was  early  ambition,  the  want  of  riches, 

(170) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  171 

which  he  yet  despised  for  themselves,  and  a  painful 
consciousness  of  his  defects.  My  demon  has  been, 
as  you  know,  a  very  different  one,  in  most  respects. 
But  the  great  object  in  life,  appears  to  be  the  finding 
of  a  faith  by  which  we  can  overlook  our  present  mis- 
fortunes in  the  contemplation  of  future  benefits,  and 
can  have  a  smile  and  an  eye-full  of  kindness  for  God's 
other  people  whom  He  has  placed  beside  us.  Your 
Charley's  friend  has  found  such  a  faith ;  I  have  found 
it,  though  not  precisely  in  his  manner.  We  are  now 
ready  to  live ;  we  are  ready  to  die  when  it  is  best  we 
should.  Perhaps  there  is  more  to  be  attained ;  but  I 
scarcely  know  what.  It  is  pretty  nearly  the  whole 
story  of  our  lives,  whether  they  are  great  or  little. 

"  But  Cora,  my  dear,  let  us  go  to  bed  and  to  rest. 
To-morrow,  perhaps  I  shall  leave  you.  If  not,  I  shall 
go  the  next  day.  I  begin  to  feel  that  I  ought  to  be 
making  my  way  homeward.  My  silent  retreat  beck- 
ons me  to  return  to  it,  and  there  think  over  some 
matters  carefully  and  alone.  My  heart  would  keep 
me  longer  here  with  you  ;  but  I  had  better  go.  Fur- 
thermore, sweet  one,  I  am  losing  you  in  another, 
who  is  beginning  to  look  too  steadfastly  on  me.  Kiss 
me,  Cora,  and  forgive  me ;  you  know  what  I  mean. 
So  make  up  your  mind  for  a  farewell  to-morrow  noon, 
or  the  next  day  morning,  unless  you  will  forsake  Char- 
ley and  accompany  me." 

"  Cora  was  in  tears  in  an  instant.  She  loved  Stella 
with  an  almost  childish  devotion,  and  could  not  bear 
to  part  with  her. 

"  I  would  go  with  you  in  a  minute,"  she  said,  "  if  I 
could.  But  Captain  Bub  is  coming  home  on  a  fur- 


172  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

lough,  this  week  or  the  next,  and  of  course  I  ought 
to  be  at  home  with  him.  He  has  been  away  almost  a 
year.  He's  a  dear,  good  brother,  and  very  fond  of 
me.  He  wants  me  to  go  everywhere  with  him,  when 
he's  here.  I  wish  you  would  stay  a  little  while  longer. 
I  can't  go  with  you.  I  could  write  to  Charley,  every 
day,  and  that  would  do  for  a  week  or  two ;  but  Pa 
and  Captain  Bub  wouldn't  dispense  with  me.  Come ; 
you  haven't  been  here  but  a  little  more  than  two 
weeks.  You  ought  to  stay  two  months  at  least.  But 
I  know  there's  no  use  of  talking.  What  is  said  by 
Stella,  Stella  does.  I  wish  she  were  a  trifle  more 
yielding,  like  poor  C  ora,  whom  she  will  certainly  kill, 
some  day,  by  persistence,  and  absence,  and  conscience, 
and  such  things." 

Yes,  Stella  had  determined  to  return  to  Boston.  But 
why  so  suddenly  ?  What  so  hastened  her  conclusion  ? 

It  was  a  very  simple  incident  of  the  evening.  After 
Earnest  had  handed  her  his  "  sermon,"  as  Cora  failed 
not  to  call  it,  the  conversation  was  turned  to  light  gen- 
eral subjects,  and  then  to  literature  and  music.  During 
the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  Stella  had  sat  at  the 
piano  again,  and  played,  while  the  friends  had  gathered 
about  her  and  listened.  When  she  had  concluded, 
Earnest  casually  took  up  a  book,  and  after  turning  the 
leaves  mechanically  for  a  moment,  he  looked  at  it.  It 
was  a  collection  of  Robert  Browning's  sweetest  poems. 
Earnest  was  excited.  He  turned  to  the  short  poem, 
"  Evelyn  Hope,"  the  gem  of  its  kind  in  the  English 
language,  then  put  the  book  aside,  and  without  a  pre- 
liminary word,  commenced  to  repeat  the  stanzas.  His 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  173 

friends  sat  motionless,  and  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe. 
Stella  placed  her  hand  on  her  forehead,  and  gave  her- 
self wholly  up  to  the  emotions  of  the  piece.  She  seem- 
ed to  die,  and  to  pass  into  other  spheres,  while  one  who 
loved  her  was  revealing  his  heart.  When  Earnest  — 
his  voice  melted  to  the  tone  of  utmost  purity  and  ten- 
derness —  came  to  the  lines,  — 

"  I  loved  you,  Evelyn,  all  the  while  ; 

My  heart  seemed  full  as  it  could  hold  ; 
There  was  place  and  to  spare  for  the  frank  young  smile ; 
And  the  red  young  mouth,  and  the  hair's  young  gold,  — 

Stella  looked  up  into  his  eye,  which  was  beaming  upon 
her  face.  Could  she  be  mistaken  ?  Was  it  not  love 
that  was  there,  liquid  and  light,  willing  her  to  approach 
and  linger  in  it  ?  'Twas  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
she  could  keep  her  seat,  she  so  longed  to  throw  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  lie  clasped  to  his  heart.  He 
finished  the  poem,  and  she  dropped  her-  head,  unable  to 
speak.  From  that  instant,  she  resolved  not  to  remain 
at  Ironton  another  evening.  The  strong-souled  Stella 
shuddered,  and  felt  an  absolute  dread  of  being  charmed 
beyond  the  full  control  of  her  will  and  judgment.  How 
she  loved  the  spell !  But  she  must  go  home,  —  yes, 
home,  to  consider,  to  wonder,  and  now  once  more  to 
mourn. 

"  O  God  !  "  she  murmured,  "  would  that  I  had  found 
this  at  seventeen  ;  but  not  now,  not  now  !  " 

They  could  not  prevail  on  her  to  remain.  The  next 
day,  at  noon,  Mr.  Clandon's  carriage  was  on  its  way 
to  the  dep3t,  and  Cora's  friend  was  about  to  leave  her. 

Through  a  note  from  Cora  to  Charley,  Earnest  had 

15* 


174  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

received  an  intimation  of  Stella's  departure.  He  was 
surprised  and  saddened.  He  could  not  refrain  from 
presenting  himself  at  the  cars,  to  bid  her  farewell.  He 
looked  into  her  face  for  the  explanation  her  words 
did  not  offer.  Tenderness  and  regret  were  in  the  blue 
eyes. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  to  lose,  so  soon,  a 
friend  whom  I  do  not  know  where  to  replace.  Permit 
me  to  say  it,  Mrs.  Torson,  —  I  have  spent  a  few  of  the 
happiest  hours  of  my  life  with  yourself  and  your  friends. 
If  anything  should  come  to  me  that  I  should  think  you 
would  take  pleasure  in,  may  I  write  you  a  line  ?  " 

Stella  could  not  refuse. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  and  you  will  visit  Boston 
sometime.  Come  and  see  me.  No  one  will  ever  be 
more  welcome." 

Thus  the  friends  parted. 

Stella  told  Cora  that  she  might  mention  to  Charley 
the  facts  connected  with  Mr.  Torson's  will.  She  might 
also  acquaint  Earnest  with  them,  if  she  pleased.  He 
could  then  draw  what  inference  he  might  from  her 
hasty  departure,  "  though  the  Fates  know,"  said  she, 
"  that  it  will  not  be  unfavorable  to  himself. 

"  Neither  will  he  regard  me  as  volatile  and  capricious, 
for  hastening  away  with  some  of  our  plans  and  pleas- 
ures unfulfilled.  We  all  had  several  walks,  and  talks, 
and  rides  which  I  counted  on.  But  here  is  the  end  of 
them." 

She  kissed  Cora,  and  stepped  into  the  cars.  In  an- 
other minute  the  train  rolled  away. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

STELLA  arrived  safe  at  her  Boston  home,  though 
on  her  way  one  of  the  cars  was  thrown  from  the 
track,  causing  a  temporary  delay  and  inconvenience  to 
passengers,  while  no  one  was  harmed.  The  accident 
was  mentioned  in  the  Ironton  papers  a  day  or  two 
afterward,  and  the  mention  was  noticed  by  Earnest. 

He  had  been  sad  and  restless,  in  spite  of  himself, 
since  he  could  no  longer  pass  an  occasional  evening 
with  Stella.  She  presented  herself  constantly  to  his 
thoughts.  He  read  his  books,  but  her  image  was  be- 
tween his  eyes  and  the  page,  which  now  conveyed  to 
him  only  half  its  significance. 

As  yet,  Cora  had  said  nothing  concerning  the  will. 
He  knew,  however,  that  there  must  be  some  mysteri- 
ous circumstance  linked  with  Stella's  procedure,  and  he 
connected  himself  with  it.  For  he  did  not  require 
words  to  arrive  at  human  feelings.  He  was  certain 
that  he  had  seen  a  more  than  ordinary  tenderness  in 
those  glances  which  had  met  his ;  had  heard  a  more 
than  ordinary  tenderness  in  those  tones  of  voice,  as  she 
addressed  him.  He  was  not  to  be  deceived.  Stella 
had  told  him  she  loved,  as  plainly  as  though  her  articu- 
late vows  had  been  communicated  to  him.  He,  too, 

(175) 


176  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

had  silently  avowed  the  story  of  his  heart  to  her.  He 
knew  that  he  had  done  so.  He  felt  that  she  knew  it. 

As  he  read  of  the  slight  accident  to  the  train  of  cars 
on  which  she  was  journeying,  —  an  accident  which,  as 
the  papers  stated,  might  very  easily  have  proved  seri- 
ous, —  an  irresistible  tremor  came  over  him,  as  though 
he  had  heard  of  a  worse  fate,  —  as  though  some  one 
had  told  him  that  his  beautiful  friend  had  been  crushed 
and  mangled,  and  snatched  away  from  him  forever. 
What  if  it  had  been  so  ! 

Then  he  sat  down  to  write  her  of  his  happiness  in 
learning  that  she  had  not  been  injured.  His  note  was 
merely  expressive  of  kindness  and  the  loneliness  of  her 
friends,  one  and  all,  since  she  had  left  them.  But  in 
it  he  enclosed  a  few  stanzas  of  verse,  which  he  said  he 
had  picked  up  recently,  and  which  he  had  thought 
might  interest  her  for  the  moment.  He  did  not  say 
how  he  had  picked  them  up.  Probably  there  was  no 
need  of  doing  so. 

The  note  was  dated  the  10th  of  April,  1861.  The 
stanzas  were  these :  — 

"  I  sat  in  the  silence  alone,  — 
The  peace  of  my  quiet  room  j 
I  looked  at  the  picture  that  hung  on  the  wall ; 
There  were  trees  and  a  child  and  a  tomb. 
But  something  came  and  veiled  the  view  : 
How  softly,  friend,  —  'twas  a  thought  of  you. 

"  I  turned  to  the  boo.k  in  my  hand ; 
On  its  page  were  names  of  the  great ; 
Ideas  that  would  soften  savage  men, 
Words  to  be  laws  of  the  State. 
But  there  on  each  line  —  it  would  peep  through  •— 
Again,  my  friend,  AVUS  a  thought  of  you. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  177 

"  I  passed  out  into  the  street ; 
'Twos  a  sunny  April  day  ; 
There  were  couples  walking  arm  in  arm, 
There  was  leisure,  was  haste,  was  play. 
I  fancied  now  would  be  something  new ; 
But  no,  my  friend,  'twas  a  thought  of  you. 

"  I  was  met  by  a  gentle  maid, 
Whose  locks  the  air-breath  fanned ; 
On  her  cheek  she  carried  the  summer  rose,     . 
Though  a  daisy  was  in  her  hand. 
She  smiled  and  spoke  ;  but  her  eyes  were  blue. 
I  looked,  and  then  —  'twas  a  thought  of  you. 

"  I  walked  on  the  distant  hills ; 
I  gazed  up  into  the  sky  ; 
Goodness  and  beauty  lay  stretched  below, 
God  and  the  boundless  on  high. 
There  was  Heaven.    I  wonder  if  Heaven  knew, 
And  forgave  me  still,  for  the  thought  of  you." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

IT  was  nearly  two  weeks  before  Earnest  received  an 
answer  to  his  letter.  But,  in  the  interval,  what  a 
startling  change  had  overpowered  the  whole  nation ! 
Fort  Sumter  had  been  bombarded !  The  cannon 
which  first  opened  its  mouth  against  those  walls  was 
the  symbol  of  destruction  to  the  Union,  to  republican 
liberty,  to  the  natural  laws  of  God  to  man.  A  few 
saw  all  this  at  a  glance,  and  knew  that  the  second  great 
hour  of  American  history  had  at  last  struck.  The 
many  saw  that  the  Union,  the  great  idol  never  to  be 
questioned  in  the  instinct  of  the  masses,  had  been 
threatened,  and  was  liable  to  be  thrown  from  its  pedes- 
tal. This  was  sufficient  for  them.  The  land,  east  and 
west,  was  in  a  blaze  of  indignation,  a  storm  of  anger. 
Massachusetts  was  rushing  through  Baltimore  to 
Washington  ;  New  York  was  close  behind  her.  God, 
Liberty,  Union,  had  come  to  mean  something.  Relig- 
ion invoked  its  followers  to  take  up  a  cross,  —  heavy, 
sad,  dreadful  war.  They  said :  "  We  will :  God  help 
us ! "  The  great  "  revival  "  had  been  granted  of 
Heaven,  and  a  practical  salvation  was  at  hand.  It  was 
a  salvation  of  self-sacrifice,  of  manly  deeds,  of  noble 
duty.  There  is  no  other.  The  day  of  grace  had 

(178) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  179 

dawned,  and  the  American  people  seemed  worthy  of  its 
resplendence. 

To  Earnest,  the  outburst  was  not  wholly  surprising. 
He  was  young.  He  had  trusted  the  intentions  of  men. 
He  knew  that  commonly  their  vision  was  very  limited, 
their  views  were  very  narrow.  But  he  had  been  sure 
that  Americans  loved  America ;  he  had  been  sure  that 
they  meant  to  love  liberty.  They  had  been  so  warped 
and  confounded  by  the  littleness  of  politicians,  and  the 
grovelling  ambition  of  strong  statesmen,  who  were  yet 
not  strong  enough  to  be  great,  who  were  too  selfish  to 
be  true,  that  they  knew  not  whither  they  were  drifting, 
where  they  should  find  justice  and  safety.  But  all  the 
time  they  were  bent  on  these  things. 

A  few  at  the  North  really  gloated  over  aristocracy 
and  slavery,  —  believed  them  necessary  and  right. 
These  were  virtually  Austrians  and  Turks,  accidentally 
born  under  American  institutions.  A  few  others  ac- 
credited nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  but  a  fat  pocket. 
These  were  of  no  special  nationality.  They  were  poor 
fellows  whom  every  thinker  saw  to  be  lingering  in  the 
quadruped  condition,  attempting  to  be  men,  even  sup- 
posing they  were  such.  But  the  fox,  the  jackal,  the 
spaniel,  peeped  out  constantly  under  their  pinched 
brows. 

There  were  these  two  classes.  But  the  American 
masses  looked  steadily  at  Mr.  Jefferson's  Declaration  of 
the  Rights  of  Man.  They  trusted  it  would  be  fulfilled. 
They  had  determined  it  should  be  fulfilled.  But  they 
thought  the  Constitution  good  enough  to  make  its 
Preamble  veracious.  If  not  at  once,  then  sooner  or 
later. 


180  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

Earnest  had  scarcely  ever  talked  with  a  sturdy, 
honest  man,  of  any  vocation  or  any  party,  who  did  not 
thus  reconcile  his  present  political  action  with  the  future 
welfare  of  his  country.  He  had  seen  and  conversed 
with  many  such  persons.  He  had  met,  too,  the  sharks, 
and  the  rhetoricians  of  the  wind-bubble.  But  on 
these  he  had  wasted  no  time,  He  had  paid  but  little 
attention  to  the  mere  forms  of  law  and  legislation, 
while  he  had  studied  closely  the  substance  which  these 
forms  are  ever  striving  to  comprise,  -r-  progressive  hu- 
man life.  He  knew  himself;  he  knew  others.  He 
prophesied,  therefore,  that  in  case  of  actual  collision  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South,  there  would  be  an  up- 
rousing  of  the  people,  and  a  merging  of  parties.  Cun- 
ning graybeards,  versed  in  what  they  termed  practical 
knowledge,  told  him  he  had  better  wait  and  tremble ; 
that  the  masses  were  chaff,  blown  one  way  as  easily  as 
the  other.  Young  attorneys  reiterated  the  advice  and 
the  assertion.  These  had  felt  of  their  own  pulse. 
Earnest  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  nation's  heart. 

Plow  he  rejoiced  in  manhood  now  !  How  his  soul 
leaped  out  to  the  people,  who  more  than  affirmed  all 
the  soundness  he  had  declared  them  to  possess  ! 

Now,  also,  he  saw  the  use  of  the  watchword  Union  ! 
which  mealy  hypocrites  had  so  often  mouthed,  as  they 
favored  meanest  measures  and  filthiest  harpies,  that  the 
word  itself  had  been  coated  with  a  secretion  of  their 
own  slime.  By  it  they  had  meant  lust  of  wealth,  lust 
of  power,  lust  of  rapine.  They  had  meant  the  assas- 
sination of  freedom,  —  the  confederation  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  autocrats,  to  despoil  man  of  his 
birthright  and  make  him  a  slave. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  181 

Here  was  the  revulsion.  Now  again  it  was  Union, 
Union,  Union  forever !  Ah,  yes  !  and  now  it  was  a 
cry  to  devour  the  hypocrite  and  the  assassin  himself. 

In  itself,  and  for  itself,  it  was  a  low  war-cry  —  the 
shriek  of  divers  and  dippers  —  mud-fowls  in  quest  of 
worms.  It  deceived  Europe.  We  seemed  an  army 
of  peddlers,  who  had  thrown  off  our  packs  and  gone 
to  a  rat-hunt  in  our  stinginess  of  corn  ;  an  army  of 
snakes,  full  of  venom  now  that  we  could  no  longer 
burrow  in  all  of  our  accustomed  ground-holes ;  an 
army  of  alligators  with  the  jaw  thrown  back  when  cer- 
tain bayous  were  denied  us  to  batten  in. 

Well,  how  many  of  us  were  ourselves  deceived. 
We  must  do  justice  to  our  tough  democrats.  They 
had  heard  so  much  of  Union!  that  they  supposed  it 
meant,  under  God,  everything  good  and  great.  They 
supposed  it  synonymous  with  the  integrity  and  sense 
of  Washington,  the  genius  of  Jefferson,  and  the  grip 
of  Jackson.  When  the  Hon.  Vulgar  Loudmouth 
bawled  Union !  they  imagined  he  talked  of  liberty ; 
not  a  mutton-chop  and  his  glass  of  brandy. 

This  was  the  rule.  Certainly  there  were  many  who 
were  ready  to  fight  for  the  mere  acres  of  ground,  —  who 
conceived  there  was  nothing  better  to  fight  for.  Their 
shout  of  Union!  was  the  wrath  of  man  praising  God,  — 
mud  turned  into  divine  muscle.  The  end  to  be  attained 
in  God's  design,  in  good  men's  efforts,  was  human  free- 
dom as  the  immediate  foundation  of  incalculable  human 
advancement.  What  a  spectacle  !  —  to  see  for  once, 
saints,  scholars,  hucksters,  hunkers,  and  thieves,  all 
lending  a  hand  to  Heaven  ! 

Earnest  felt  it  was  the  one  sight  of  a  lifetime,  and  he 

16 


182  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

threw  out  all  his  faculties  to  the  view.  He  had  almost 
forgotten  Stella.  But  now  her  letter  was  before  him, 
and  her  sweet  face  rose  from  his  memory,  serene,  intel- 
ligent, sensitive,  grand. 

Yes,  he  would  leave  the  gathering  storm  of  war,  and 
dwell  for  a  little  while  with  his  thoughts,  and  with  the 
image  of  his  friend.  His  eye  ran  hastily  over  the  letter, 
as  if  to  devour  its  substance  at  a  glance.  Then  he 
would  read  it  more  carefully. 

But  here  were  some  verses.  What !  was  Stella  fa- 
vored of  the  Muse  ?  "Was  this  another  of  her  accom- 
plishments ?  Her  letter  stated  it  was  not.  She  partly 
apologized  for  sending  the  stanzas. 

"  My  friend,"  she  wrote,  "  the  floodgates  of  principle 
have  at  last  opened  in  battle,  and  as  there  is  no  other 
way  for  them  to  open,  God  be  praised  for  this  way !  I 
am  here  among  the  sons  of  the  Puritans.  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  them.  They  were  not  dead :  they  slept. 
I  had  sometimes  feared  the  old  blood  was  all  out  of  their 
veins.  But  in  these  last  few  days  I  have  seen  Otis, 
and  Adams,  and  Hancock,  striding  about  our  modern 
Boston.  What  else  than  they  and  their  spirit  have  I 
beheld  here  since  the  12th  ?  It  is  so  with  you  ;  it  is  so 
in  all  parts  of  the  North.  What  a  time,  after  all,  is 
this  we  are  fallen  upon !  What  history  mtfst  the 
country  now  inevitably  write  during  the  next  five  or 
ten  years !  But  I  will  not  look  forward.  The  present 
is  enough. 

"  I  have  done  little  but  read  the  daily  journals  since 
I  left  you.  A  few  times  I  have  sat  down  to  my  piano. 
The  wish  came  over  me  to  throw  something  of  the 
passing  hour  into  music.  I  made  the  attempt  to  thun- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  183 

der,  and  threaten,  and  proclaim,  sounds  descriptive  of 
the  outburst  around  me.  Then  I  tried  to  adapt  the 
sounds  to  words.  Perhaps  the  words  are  lame.  I  feel 
that  they  at  least  need  the  music  to  render  them 
complete.  But  I  send  them  to  you.  Try  to  make  me 
some  better  ones.  Then  you  and  I  can  have  a  song  for 
the  times." 

"  I  think  I  shall  not,"  said  Earnest,  as  he  read  them. 
They  were  these :  — 

"  It  has  come !  it  has  come  !  —  the  cannon's  grim  thunder  — 
From  threatening  clouds  that  have  flashed  an  the  South  ! 
Columbia,  pallid  with  wrath  and  with  wonder, 
Darts  fire  from  her  eyes,  fiery  words  from  her  mouth ! 

They  have  shot  down  the  stars, 

O  Spirit  of  Mars ! 
Now  cover,  ye  stripes,  the  palmetto  with  scars  I 

"  That  lazy-leaved  tree  has  borne  fruit  for  the  nation, 
That's  poisoned  its  breath  with  a  feculent  lie  ! 
And  now  that  for  crime,  it  would  sever  relation, 
My  banner,  with  thee,  cut  it  down  !  let  it  die  1 

They  have  hated  the  good, 

They  have  thirsted  for  blood  : 
Let  them  sink,  if  they  must,  in  the  reddening  flood ! 

"  Strong  sons  of  the  North,  ye  are  roused  from  a  slumber 
That  long  has  been  rusting  your  glory  away. 
Ye  dreamed  not  of  battles,  nor  counted  the  number 
Of  deadliest  foes  ye  were  destined  to  slay. 

Ye  were  drunken  with  gold  ! 

But  oh !  ye  are  bold ! 
And  your  grasp  is  a  fate  to  the  purpose  ye  hold  ! 

"  Ye  meant  in  your  hearts  that  our  country  should  never, 
No,  never  bow  down  to  the  whip  and  the  chain  ! 


184  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

But  ye've  borne  and  forborne  till  I  marvelled  if  ever 
Your  blood  could  be  nettled  by  insult  or  pain. 

For  ye  waited  to  see 

If  the  struggle  must  be : 
Now  God  pity  him  who  encounters  the  free  ! 

"  He  has  opened  the  death-dance,  to  wanton  the  longer 
With  her  who  has  ever  been  mother  of  wrong. 
Then  war  to  the  hilt !  —  with  a  will  that  is  stronger 
To  burst  all  her  shackles  and  scatter  her  throng ! 

There,  down  let  her  fall ! 

Here,  put  on  the  pall ! 
It  is  woven  of  groans  and  the  curses  of  all ! 

"  Yet  ever  remember,  O  Sons  of  the  Union  ! 
For  better  than  vengeance  your  legions  pour  forth  : 
The  Southron  ye  meet  in  yon  gory  communion, 
Shall  die  or  succumb  to  the  men  of  the  North ! 
But  your  flag  is  unfurled 
Not  that  down  he  be  hurled, 
But  for  life,  and  for  freedom,  and  peace  in  the  world !  " 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

SOON  after  Earnest  had  read  Stella's  letter,  Charley 
Merlow  came  into  his  room,  and  told  him  the  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  her  marriage,  and  her  de- 
ceased husband's  will.  Cora  had  narrated  them  in  full 
to  him  on  the  previous  evening. 

"  The  secret  is  out,  my  boy !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  and 
now  I  scent  the  sole  cause  of  her  fury  to  regain  the 
classic  cow-paths  of  Boston.  A  certain  dear  fellow, 
over  here,  was  making  himself  felt  as  such  to  my  lady 
the  Torson.  She  has  a  heart.  She  fears  it  -is  flesh. 
She  would  tuck  it  away  out  of  danger.  She  is  con- 
scientious. She  is  sensible.  She  has  looked  in  the 
glass.  She  knows  she  is  somebody,  —  quite  somebody, 
with  several  attractions,  —  and  doesn't  believe  you  are 
blind.  "Well,  there  was  a  little  conversation,  I  noticed, 
between  your  eyes  and  hers.  They  had  a  way  of 
sparkling  to  each  other  that  was  growing  serious.  A 
minus  A  equals  '  ought,'  as  the  boys  used  to  say  at 
school.  Heart  minus  the  possibility  of  hand,  equals 
ought  not  plus  a  journey  to  Boston  for  consideration  of 
the  matter. 

"  But  you  and  she  were  made  and  foreordained  for 
each  other  from  the  beginning.  Neither  of  you  will 

16*  (185) 


186  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

be  content  alone.  She  doesn't  care  a  pothook  for 
wealth ;  and  her  position,  forced  by  the  will,  has  almost 
made  her  hate  it.  There's  money  in  your  brains,  and 
bread  to  be  had  outside  the  bakery  of  Jabed  Z.  Torson. 
The  question,  'then,  before  my  side  of  the  house,  is 
how  to  send  his  will  to  the  devil.  Furthermore,  if  one 
storms  Hades,  I  don't  think  he  should  be  too  tender 
about  the  sort  of  fire  he  uses.  Why  not  slop  a  dipper- 
ful  of  his  own  brimstone  into  his  black  majesty's  very 
face  ?  But  "  — 

"  Charley,  Charley,  you  are  going  wild,"  interrupted 
Earnest.  "  Listen  a  minute.  You  say  the  will  de- 
pends almost  wholly  on  her  word  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  may  she  break  that  word  never  !  You  say 
her  parents  rely  on  her.  Then  Heaven  prompt  her  to 
stick  by  the  money  !  You  say  that,  if  she  disregards 
the  will,  the  property  will  probably  slide  into  doctrinal 
tracts  and  pro-slavery  pamphlets.  Well,  that  is  not 
of  so  much  consequence.  The  flag  that  was  shot  down, 
the  other  day,  is  all  that  ever  gave  slavery  any  real  se- 
curity in  the  country.  It  will  die  now  in  ten  yeai's,  — 
perhaps  in  five.  All  the  corruption  of  earth  can't 
save  it,  to  say  nothing  of  a  ghost's  bank-account.  The 
other  matter,  too,  is  of  as  little  importance.  God's 
great  truths  of  faith  and  life  vibrate  to  no  pedant's 
whim  or  his  purse.  Still,  a  personal  inclination  to  any- 
thing but  a  duty,  cannot  outweigh  a  third  of  a  million 
dollars.  I  should  advise  that  noble  woman,  whom  I 
will  own  that  I  love,  to  think  well,  before  allowing  her 
fortune  to  pass  into  other  hands. 

"  My  dear  Charley,  we  will  not  send  the  Torson's 


,  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  187 

will  to  the  devil,  for  our  own  convenience.  But  I  shall 
have  a  little  talk  with  Stella  in  a  few  clays,  and  tell  her 
that  I  have  not  do^ie  myself  such  injustice  as  to  see 
her  and  keep  my  heart.  The  regal  woman  !  How  I 
long  to  be  with  her  once  more,  if  only  for  an  hour !  I 
shall  not  ask  her  love.  I  shall  not  ask  for  anything  ex- 
cept to  be  followed  by  her  eye  and  her  heart,  as  I  walk 
away  from  her  with  a  sword  by  my  side.  Yes,  one 
thing  more  I  shall  ask,  —  that  we  both  live  to  hope. 

"  For,  Charley,  I  who  have  outgrown  all  ambition 
for  feathers  and  the  stuff  they  call  glory  ;  who  now 
wish  to  live  only  for  knowledge  and  truth  ;  I  too  must 
strut  off,  like  the  rest,  with  gilt  buttons  and  a  cockade. 
The  times  have  brought  us  to  this.  How  dearly  have  we 
paid  for  our  fostering  of  slavery,  which  now  threatens 
to  devour  the  best  fruit  that  Christianity  has  borne  for 
the  ages  !  And  slavery  knows  no  other  argument  than 
war.  It  is  a  wild  beast.  To  kill  or  be  killed  is  all  that 
is  left  to  civilization,  religion,  justice,  peace.  War  is 
wrong.  It  is  the  one  great  wrong  next  to  slavery.  But 
my  country  is  not  going  to  war.  It  has  shuddered  at 
the  thought  for  years.  I  mean  the  nineteenth  century 
at  the  North.  The  middle-ages,  at  the  South,  have 
hugged  the  sword,  of  course,  and  have  compelled  us  to 
wield  it  against  our  will,  as  in  Mexico. 

"  I  say  my  country  is  not  going  to  war.  It  hates 
war.  It  has  risen  above  the  spirit  of  military  strife. 
It  loves  peace,  industry,  culture.  It  is  going  forth  to 
slay  a  wolf,  whose  red  eyes  it  now  plainly  sees,  and 
whose  red  jaws  are  agape  to  craunch  the  very  life  of 
American  principles.  The  wolf  would  eat  up  liberty, 
light,  and  the  sons  of  God.  Not  in  hate,  then,  but 


188  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

sorrowfully,  and  as  mercifully  as  possible,  these  must 
eat  it. 

"  There  was  never  slavery  that  did  not  bring  war  ; 
and  now  it  has  fallen  upon  us.  But  we  shall  crush  the 
wolf,  and  then  our  wars,  as  I  think,  will  be  over.  We 
shall  want  no  more  of  battles  ourselves,  and  other 
nations  will  not  dare  to  force  them  upon  us. 

"  Yes,  Charley,  since  I  was  eighteen,  fighting  of  all 
kinds  has  had  no  charm  for  me ;  unless  the  fighting 
of  truth  with  error  and  ignorance.  But  now  I  shall 
go  South,  and  with  arms.  I  can  put  my  hand  in 
God's,  and  feel  that  in  this  one  instance  He  lifts  me  to 
the  great  duty  of  slaying  my  brother  for  my  brother's 
good. 

"  In  a  few  weeks  I  shall  leave  you,  my  friend. 
There  is  no  need  of  haste  for  me.  Others  will  go  to- 
day, to-morrow.  They  will  be  needed.  But  our  people 
do  not  understand  the  South.  The  struggle  will  not 
be  the  trifle  they  count  on.  Seventy  years  of  merci- 
less sin  will  not  sink  in  a  spoonful  of  vitriol.  There  is 
work  before  us,  —  hard,  horrid  work.  The  wondrous 
development  of  mechanical  forces  in  the  world,  will 
alone  preserve  us  from  repeating  the  Germanic  war  of 
thirty  years.  Possibly  we  shall  finish  ours  in  five.  If 
so,  it  will  be  the  speediest  on  record.  For,  Charley, 
the  South  will  fight,  —  will  fight  better  than  ourselves, 
in  proportion  to  numbers.  Will  they  not  ?  Howr  was 
it  with  Spain  three  hundred  years  ago  ?  How  was  it 
with  France  when  her  cavaliers  had  their  ten,  twenty, 
or  thirty  duels  before  breakfast,  and  when  one  of  her 
knights  challenged  the  whole  German  nation  to  single 
combat  ?  Oh,  yes  !  the  barbarism  of  the  middle  ages 


LOVERS  AND   THINKERS.  189 

will  fight ;  for  it  believes  there  is  nothing  fit  for  a  man 
to  do  but  to  conquer  and  to  domineer.  The  South  is 
that  barbarism.  Not  wholly  so  in  its  outward  cir- 
cumstances, but  completely  so  in  the  central  tone  of 
mind  from  which  all  its  actions  proceed.  No,  there  is 
one  main  difference.  It  has  not  the  faith  in  God 
which  inspired  the  Crusaders  and  their  sons.  Its  only 
great  faith  is  a  glittering  dream  of  conquest,  —  the  con- 
quest of  the  whole  Western  Continent. 

"  But,  Charley,  here  is  a  letter  from  Stella.  Read 
the  song  she  sent  me.  And  what  do  you  think  she 
asks  me  for  ?  She  wants  me  to  write  her  out  the  phi- 
losophy of  slavery,  —  the  reason  it  has  been  in  the 
world.  I  shall  try  to  do  it.  (Perhaps  she  may  never 
make  me  many  requests.)  Then  I  shall  go  to  Boston 
myself.  I  want  to  see  Stella,  and  have  a  fond  word 
from  her  heart  to  help  me  along  in  the  future  tumult." 

Charley  Merlow  was  amazed  at  Earnest's  hurried 
words,  and  at  his  intention  of  becoming  a  soldier.  He 
knew  that  his  friend  had  no  taste  for  it,  and  that  noth- 
ing but  the  feeling  of  duty  could  induce  him  to  forsake 
his  seclusion  and  his  books,  for  the  savagery  of  the 
camp.  But  he  knew  that  dissuasion  would  be  unavail- 
ing. He  merely  said  :  "  We  can't  do  without  you. 
Think  of  it  again.  Don't  decide  so  hastily." 

Then  Charley  added  a  good-by,  and  walked  sadly 
away. 

"  Not  fit  for  any  such  thing !  "  he  muttered.  "  Use 
him  right  up,  and  make  a  funeral  for  us.  Plenty  of 
others  to  go,  —  strong  men,  used  to  exertion.  Ought 
to  wait  awhile  at  least.  All  wrong,  all  wrong !  " 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

ON  the  25th  Earnest  wrote  Stella  the  following 
letter :  — 

"  Let  it  be,  my  dear  friend,  as  you  say.  While  the 
whole  land  is  burning  with  activity,  we  will  pause  a 
moment  and  ask  why. 

"  The  immediate  cause  is  evident.  The  South  has 
honestly  declared  it,  throwing  down  the  glove  for  sla- 
very, which  it  loves,  and  which  it  knows  we  at  the 
North  hate,  daily  more  and  more. 

"But  the  North  does  not  detest  slavery  as  the  South 
adores  it.  There  are  few  John  Browns  among  us,  — 
men  ready  to  fight  and  die  for  the  absolute  idea  of 
freedom.  In  one  sense,  I  should  say  we  are  not  good 
enough  for  that.  Then  I  should  have  to  modify  the 
assertion.  Conscience  is  not  conservative  :  yet  I  think 
it  has  largely  entered  into  our  forbearance  and  moder- 
ation. 

"  There  is  much  to  consider  when  we  examine  the 
North. 

"  For  one  thing,  we  fully  appreciate  the  horrors  of 
war.  The  South  does  not.  Slavery  never  did.  The 
system,  in  all  parts  of  the  world  and  throughout  history, 
has  always  produced  two  classes  of  men,  —  soldiers  and 

(190) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  191 

serfs.  The  master,  whose  every  whim  has  been  grati- 
fied by  slaves,  will  brook  no  contradiction,  no  restraint. 
He  is  always  practically  a  warrior.  Oppose  his  will, 
he  draws  his  sword.  To  subdue  and  govern,  or  to  find 
'  glory  and  a  grave '  in  the  attempt,  has  ever  been  his 
leading  thought.  His  annals  give  no  other  account  of 
him,  from  Cheops  to  Beauregard.  His  conception  of 
manhood  has  always  been  to  kill  his  opponent,  if  an 
equal,  and  to  crush  his  inferior  into  the  menial  of  his 
household  or  his  land. 

"  No,  the  South  has  not  dreaded  war,  but  has  de- 
sired it.  I  know  the  plea  is  '  to  be  let  alone.'  I  think 
a  few  Southern  men,  educated  at  the  North,  honestly 
mean  it,  and  would  like  peace  on  that  condition.  But 
for  years  the  one  blissful  vision  of  the  South  has  been 
conquest.  The  South  expects  to  subdue  us  to  its  will. 
It  deems  us  too  paltry  to  fight,  and  supposes  it  can  beat 
us  if  we  should  do  so.  Its  most  scheming  men  have 
believed  that  we  would  eventually  throw  up  every 
principle  for  the  sake  of  Union ;  and  now,  seeing  us 
obstinate  and  enraged,  it  is  glad  of  the  chance  to  thrash 
us  into  humiliation. 

"  Here  is  a  mistake  similar  to  that  which  a  rough, 
brutal  man  makes  in  judging  a  refined,  serene  man, 
who  dislikes  contention,  not  from  fear  but  from  a  sense 
of  its  wrong.  The  rough  man  thinks  his  neighbor, 
who  will  not  fight  with  him,  a  coward.  But  surely 
Socrates  and  Paul  are  no  less  brave  than  some  roister- 
ing Earl  of  Huntingdon  turned  into  Robin  Hood,  or  a 
Captain  Warner  wearing  on  his  coat,  in  silver  letters, 
the  avowal  that  he  is  '  commander  of  a  troop  of  robbers, 
an  enemy  of  God,  without  pity  and  without  mercy.' 


192  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  The  North  is  not  timid.  It  dislikes  war,  because 
it  sees  there  is  a  better  arbiter  of  difficulties.  It  credits 
enlightenment,  thinking  that  when  men  are  truly  en- 
lightened they  will  wish  to  be  just,  to  do  right.  The 
South  cannot  comprehend  this  conviction.  Slavery 
inevitably  believes  that  mildness  and  prudent  industry 
are  cowards.  Feudal  France  thought  that  commercial 
Holland  would  not  resist  her,  —  thought  so  till  the 
dikes  were  down  and  the  land  submerged.  '  Nobility  ' 
supposed  the  early  communes  would  not  fight,  until  the 
conceit  was  knocked  out  of  its  head,  the  brains  going  at 
the  same  time. 

"  The  civilization  of  the  North  is  superior  to  the 
civilization  of  the  South,  as  the  world  knows  directly 
from  experience,  the  leading  nations  having  passed 
through  slavery  and  sloth  into  freedom  and  industry, 
trying  and  proving  both.  The  difference  is  solely  an 
affair  of  growth. 

"  Here  I  come  at  once  upon  the  matter  of  your  request 
—  the  law  —  the  cause  in  God's  providence  —  of  the 
system  of  slavery. 

"  How  should  I  expect  to  enlighten  you  ?  I  know, 
my  friend,  that  you  have  been  upon  these  universal 
grounds  which  now  invite  me.  You  have  beheld  the 
light  above  them  which  harmonizes  all  particulars,  all 
incongruities,  into  one  vision  of  the  Creator's  benefi- 
cence. Well,  then,  I  shall  recall  and  confirm  to  you 
that  sublime  view ;  without  which  we  are  all  children  ; 
so  that  every  toy  of  interest,  of  pleasure  sets  us  spinning 
in  its  own  little  whirl. 

"  Let  us  begin  as  far  back  as  we  may,  and  speak  the 
one  commandment  to  every  created  thing  :  —  *  Pro- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  193 

gress ! '  It  is  the  key  that  unlocks  all  secrets.  It  is 
the  password  into  all  heavens. 

"  Was  our  globe  once  a  mass  of  fiery  ether,  the  first 
emanation  of  Deity  that  our  science  perceives  ?  The 
step  from  this  primary  visible  effect,  back  to  God,  we 
need  not  attempt  to  trace.  But  the  fiery  ether  solidi- 
fies, becoming,  in  ages  enough,  the  surface  of  a  world. 
Now  it  is  the  barren  extremity  of  matter,  —  a  naked 
rock.  From  this  point  it  ameliorates.  There  is  the 
coral,  the  fish,  the  plant,  the  animal,  and,  when  all  is 
ready,  man.  Does  this  last  production  come  up  through 
the  preceding  ones,  retaining  their  nature,  dropping 
their  forms  ?  Is  it  their  direct  offspring  ?  However 
this  may  be,  it  embodies  all  their  qualities  and  powers, 
and  carries  them  up  to  a  wonderful  height,  —  into  the 
realm  of  intelligence,  reflection,  and  modified  self- 
direction.  Behold  a  being  who  is  the  middle  of  the 
universe  !  God's  spirit  has  been  breathed  into  his  soul ; 
God's  material  forces  have  been  thrown  into  his  body 
and  moulded  to  his  shape.  He  will  use  everything 
above  him,  everything  below.  He  will  unfold  more 
and  more  the  wisdom  of  the  skies,  the  knowledge  of 
the  earth,  taking  the  result  into  himself  and  growing, 
—  which  growth  through  the  spheres  will  be  evermore 
his  life. 

"At  first  he  is  in  a  state  of  mental  babyhood, — 
roaming  the  primitive  wilds  of  the  earth  in  unclad 
fierceness ;  strong  in  body,  but  merely  instinctive ; 
knowing  just  enough  to  sustain  life  and  to  extend  it. 
Yet  presently  he  will  arrive  at  self-consciousness.  He 
will  ask  himself:  '  Who  am  I,  in  this  strange  world, 
without  power  to  cause  myself,  and  while  I  can  do 
17 


194  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

much,  am  still  limited  on  every  side  ? '  Asking  the 
question,  he  will  draw  the  inference,  '  There  is  some- 
thing above  me  which  governs  and  guides.'  Then  he 
will  look  to  the  sun  and  moon  as  representatives  of  the 
Power  his  thought  has  mirrored  to  him.  He  will 
worship.  He  will  say  that  not  to  worship  is  a  crime. 
After  a  while,  he  will  commence  to  write  a  history  of 
himself,  which  will  be  called  '  The  Annals  of  all  Races 
and  Nations.' 

"  At  this  juncture,  my  friend,  he  is  well  started  in 
life.  Nor  could  we  start  him  differently  and  speak  the 
truth.  His  mythologies  all  mean  this  ;  and  you  and  I 
have  learned  better  than  to  read  them  by  their  coarser 
sense. 

"  Now  let  us  glance  at  Slavery  "as  we  read  history. 

"  The  system  is  very  venerable,  like  polygamy  and 
cannibalism.  We  must  make  the  broadest  statement 
for  it  in  this  respect.  We  may  even  assert  a  little 
crustily,  with  Mr.  Andrew  Bell,  that  '  it  is  humiliating 
to  civilized  man  to  know  that,  when  authentic  general 
history  first  records  the  doings  of  his  earliest  progen- 
itors, she  speaks  of  his  kind  as  being  nearly  all  bond- 
men if  not  absolute  slaves.'  The  Mother  of  the 
Nations  said,  —  I  know  not  how  many  thousand  years 
ago,  — '  Some  men  came  from  the  head  of  Brahma,  to 
think  ;  some  from  his  arms,  to  govern  and  fight ;  some 
from  his  trunk,  to  produce  and  distribute  the  necessa- 
ries of  life ;  some  from  his  feet,  to  dig  and  build,  —  to 
bear  the  heavy  burdens  of  the  others.'  The  idea  was 
established,  and  became  Hindoo  Caste.  By  it  the 
lowest  orders  of  society  in  India,  the  mass  of  men, 
were  slaves.  They  were  such  throughout  Asia. 
They  were  such  in  Egypt,  in  Greece,  in  Rome. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  195 

"  Yes,  slavery  is  venerable.  We  must  even  say  more 
for  it.  In  one  of  its  chief  phases  it  was  once  a  bene- 
faction and  a  reform. 

"  Society,  at  the  outset,  was  patriarchal.  The  father 
of  a  family  was  the  ruler  over  his  wives,  his  sons,  his 
dependants.  The  family  increased  to  a  tribe.  A  de- 
scendant of  its  head,  or  a  strong  usurper,  was  then  its 
chief.  Men  had  two  pursuits,  —  to  fight  for  the  ground 
on  which  they  established  themselves,  and  rudely  to  culti- 
vate it.  They  were  savages.  All  men,  as  we  have 
seen,  look  to  some  mysterious  Power  which  creates  and 
governs  them.  A  great  spiritual  intellect  pierces 
through  all  manifestations  of  that  Power,  and  calls  it 
Unity,  Allah,  God.  A  cannibal  believes  it  to  be  a  more 
majestic  cannibal  than  himself,  with  a  bigger  club  and 
more  ferocious  appetites.  The  Hebrews,  just  emerging 
from  darkest  bondage,  and  entering  upon  the  track  of 
rapine,  regard  it  as  a  haughty  and  jealous  God-at-arms, 
demanding  the  blood  of  men,  women,  and  children, 
who  worship  some  opposing  military  deity.  Hence  the 
hot-headed,  miscalculating,  capricious  Jehovah  is  their 
conception  of  the  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth.  He 
demands  the  extermination  of  enemies,  —  the  cutting 
them  up  root  and  branch,  leaving  none  alive.  In  this 
state,  society  is  too  barbarous  for  an  extended  and  ma- 
ture system  of  slavery.  Women  are  servants  or  play- 
things ;  the  weak,  who  cannot  fight,  are  the  same. 
•  But  veritable,  historical  slavery  is  yet  to  come,  an  im- 
provement. 

"  Now,  the  soldier  kills  his  foe  in  battle,  or  offers  him 
as  a  sacrifice  to  the  favoring  deity  who  is  supposed  to 
have  aided  in  capturing  him.  The  bones,  perhaps,  are 


196  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

heaped  up  as  a  trophy.  By  no  means  must  the  wor- 
shipper spare  an  enemy  to  his  God.  But  later,  both 
mercy  and  selfishness  conspire  to  the  innovation.  It 
seems  rather  harsh,  even  to  a  Hebrew  savage,  to 
murder  a  poor  mortal  after  he  is  rendered  totally  de- 
fenceless. Why  not  make  him  a  *  hewer  of  wood  and 
a  drawer  of  water '  ?  It  is  done.  The  captive,  formerly 
slain,  is  preserved  as  a  slave.  Yet  afterward,  if  a  battle 
go  wrong,  the  conservative  priest  shall  snuff '  infidelity ' 
on  all  the  winds.  He  shall  declare  that  Jehovah  has 
been  disobeyed,  Israel  has  been  defiled  by  mercy  to 
Canaan,  and  the  retribution  has  appeared.  So  flinty 
and  frivolous  is  mankind,  in  the  red,  dripping  history  of 
his  childhood !  Slavery  is  the  result  of  war,  and  of 
the  proud  indolence  of  the  warrior,  governor,  and 
priest. 

"  We  pause  here  for  an  instant.  Does  God,  the 
true  Father  of  all  races,  ever  permit  a  system  to  exist 
which  is  not  best  for  the  time  and  place,  and  for  the 
people  who  are  its  builders  ?  No.  Let  us  revert  to 
the  Hindoo,  with  his  doctrine  of  caste. 

"  We  shall  find  a  great  truth  at  thve  foundation  of  it. 
We  remember  that,  to  the  Hindoo,  Brahma  is  the 
impersonation  of  God's  creative  faculty.  Well,  some 
men  came  from  the  head  of  Brahma,  to  think.  These 
are  the  highest,  —  the  Brahmins.  Here  is  a  declaration 
that  the  sage,  the  saint,  is  the  salt  of  the  earth.  The 
maxims  are  identical.  They  mean  that  God  has  so 
constructed  the  universe  that  the  religious  genius  is 
always  the  first  gentleman  and  the  greatest  force  in  any 
realm. 

"  The  second   class   are  magistrates   and   warriors. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  197 

They  come  from  the  arms  of  Brahma,  to  govern  and 
fight.  But  they  are  under  the  guidance  of  the  Brah- 
mins, whom  they  must  consult  and  obey.  Here  is  a 
recognition  of  the  fact  that  the  practical  administrators 
of  the  State  —  those  who  mould  the  perceptions  of 
genius  into  laws  and  customs  —  are  next  in  importance 
to  genius  itself, — that  Aaron  must  needs  execute,  while 
Moses  designs. 

"  Then  come  the  merchants,  —  the  distributors,  — 
from  the  trunk  of  Brahma  ;  and  last,  the  laborers,  — 
the  diggers  and  builders,  —  from  his  feet. 

"  Really  there  have  always  been  these  four  classes  of 
men  in  the  world,  perfectly  distinct  from  each  other. 
So  far,  caste  only  expresses  a  universal  truth  of  human 
nature. 

"  But  it  was  made  permanent.  One  class  must  never 
rise  into  another.  No  member  of  a  lower  order  must 
ever  attempt  to  enter  a  higher,  or  to  perform  any  of  its 
functions.  As  one  was  born  into  the  world,  so  must 
he  go  out  of  it. 

"  This  part  of  the  institution  is  a  terrible,  unmodified 
assertion  of  our  maxim,  '  Like  begets  like.'  We  may 
state  its  underlying  truth  thus  :  Some  men  are  born 
with  natural  endowments  superior  to  those  of  others ; 
culture  is  necessary  to  eminence  ;  eminence  and  culture 
should  transmit  superiority. 

"  These  are  rules  of  every  one's  mind  and  conduct. 
When,  too,  the  sources  of  culture  were  very  few,  and 
were  necessarily  monopolized  by  the  few  ;  when  it  was 
literally  impossible  for  one  condition  to  ascend  into 
another ;  when  the  masses  were  sunk  in  hopeless,  stu- 
pid, willing  ignorance  and  debasement,  —  caste  merely 
17* 


198  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

proclaimed  a  practical,  undeniable  fact.  It  was  a  neces- 
sity. It  was  a  blessing,  not  a  bane.  But  as  soon  as 
the  sources  of  improvement  multiplied,  and  it  became 
the  wish  and  the  possibility  for  men  indiscriminately  to 
rise,  the  weighty  millstone  became  a  shackle  about  the 
neck  of  progress.  Bitter  and  bloody  has  been  the 
struggle  to  throw  it  off,  —  a  struggle  in  which  millions 
have  yet  found  their  employment,  their  hope,  their 
gratification,  and  which  has  afforded  to  history  nearly 
all  its  pages  of  heroism. 

"  In  one  form  and  another,  caste  has  existed  from 
the  beginning,  and  to-day  a  remnant  of  it  is  about  to 
fall  in  America,  drenched  in  blood.  Here,  you  say,  it 
rests  on  color,  and  we  term  it  American  slavery.  Is  it 
a  sin  ?  —  an  absolute,  unqualified  sin  ? 

"  We  must  say  yes;  we  must  say  no;  we  must  add  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  an  absolute,  unqualified  sin. 

"  Why  is  it  that  we  all  have  two  eyes,  while  so  few 
can  see  two  things  at  once,  or  two  sides  of  the  same 
thing  ? 

"  Sin  is  a  matter  which  is  heaven  to-day,  hell  to- 
morrow. The  patriarch  may  think  himself  a  man  after 
God's  own  heart,  yet  be  a  polygamist  and  a  slave- 
holder. While  he  does  not  know  he  commits  a  sin,  he 
is  no  sinner.  Refusing  to  grow,  —  this  is  sin.  Cling- 
ing to  the  old,  while  seeing  the  new  and  knowing  it  to 
be  better, —  this  is  sin.  Excessive  conservatism  is  the 
only  crime  ever  committed  in  the  world.  If  I  am  a 
fool  or  a  savage,  who  shall  blame  me  for  mumbling 
blasphemy  or  torturing  my  foe  ?  But  if  by  any  means 
I  can  be  taught  to  know  better,  and  my  conscience 
rebukes  the  former  ignorance,  dare  I  linger  in  the  old 
way  ?  Then  I  am  Satan's  own. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  199 

" '  An  eye  for  an  eye  ;  a  tooth  for  a  tooth  ;  burning 
for  burning : '  —  this  was  once  a  law  of  God.  That  is, 
it  was  the  best  a  barbarous  people  knew,  and  conse- 
quently their  conception  of  God  declared  it.  It  was 
Jehovah's  mandate.  Virtue  and  necessity  obeyed  it. 
But  when  there  was  one  came  to  look  deeper,  and  to 
say :  '  Nay,  love  your  enemies  ;  bless  them  that  curse 
you ;  do  evermore  as  ye  would  be  done  by,'  —  and 
when  the  hearts  around  him  reiterated  this  command, 
—  the  virtue  which  had  obeyed  the  old  law,  if  continued, 
degenerated  to  a  vice. 

"  There  are  a  thousand  illustrations.  But  sin  is 
always  the  refusal  to  enact  the  perceptions  of  con- 
science, or  the  weakness  which  postpones  the  deed. 

"  Slavery  was  not  a  sin  when  the  low  condition  of 
the  race  rendered  it  conscientious,  satisfactory,  unavoid- 
able. In  the  nineteenth  century,  in  North  America, 
with  the  New  Testament  in  every  house,  and  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence  acknowledged  as  truth,  it  is 
the  sin  of  sins,  which  has  debauched  and  disgraced 
thirty  millions  of  Christians  into  such  Atheism  as  ven- 
tured to  jeer  at  any  law  higher  or  better  than  a  barely 
tolerable  Constitution. 

"  Now  the  retribution  is  upon  us.  It  cannot  but  be 
terrible.  We  shall  deserve  to  lose  every  life  that  will 
be  laid  down.  God's  law  of  universal  justice  is  exact. 
The  pendulum  has  swung  far  into  darkness.  Its  return 
will  be  just  so  much  death.  Then  there  will  be  a  bet- 
ter life. 

"  I  have  made  the  assertion  of  Progress.  You 
would  scarcely  ask  the  proof.  You  have  known  it. 
But  the  argument  is  not  complete  without  one  more 


200  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

word,  —  Experience.  How  do  we  know  that  we  ad- 
vance from  the  lower  to  the  higher  ?  That  word  gives 
the  answer  to  men  and  nations.  For  the  history  of 
nations  is. only  a  reflection  of  man,  —  the  shadow  his 
presence  throws  upon  time,  —  the  outward  image  of  his 
inward  unfolding.  Each  soul  lives,  in  greater  or  less 
degree,  the  annals  of  the  world.  The  soul  itself  is 
barbarous  or  civilized,  beauteous  or  unlovely,  precisely 
in  accordance  with  its  growth,  —  its  intellectual  and 
moral  growth.  There  is  no  enduring  reward  for  it 
except  its  own  enlargement.  There  is  no  real  punish- 
ment save  its  own  debasement. 

" '  There  is  no  crime,'  said  Goethe,  *  which  I  might 
not  have  committed.'  Why  this  acknowledgment? 
Simply  that  he  knew  himself,  and  recognized  in  his  im- 
pulses and  ideas,  from  infancy  to  manhood,  those  things 
which,  if  he  had  possessed  the  means  of  executing 
every  one  of  them  at  the  moment  of  desire  or  tempta- 
tion, would  have  paralleled  the  record  of  all  misdeeds. 
Rousseau's  "  Confessions  "  are  a  most  unreserved  and  de- 
tailed avowal  of  Goethe's  admission.  Here  was  a  man 
of  remarkable  virtues  in  his  time  and  place,  who  had 
yet  broken  about  all  the  commandments,  and  might 
very  easily  have  made  no  exception  of  any  one. 

"  Early  boyhood  makes  small  scruple  of  coveting, 
lying,  swearing,  stealing,  and  the  like.  If  I  have  never 
killed  a  person,  it  is  not  but  I  had  a  hearty  will  to  do 
so,  several  times,  when  a  boy,  as  I  distinctly  remember. 

"  An  honest  and  fair  lady  once  told  me  that  '  every 
girl  is  at  some  period  of  her  life  a  flirt.'  Vanity  is 
active,  and  craves  the  admiration  of  many,  before  love 
—  a  higher,  later  faculty  —  is  satisfied  with  the  affection 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  201 

of  one.  I  might  have  told  my  friend  in  return,  that 
every  boy  is  at  some  period  of  his  life  a  snob.  I  have 
never  known  a  bright  boy,  well  circumstanced,  who 
did  not  think  himself  a  natural  lord,  born  to  command 
and  to  be  obeyed.  •  How  many  inferiors  such  a  boy 
imagines  are  around  him,  and  how  gladly  he  would 
reduce  them  to  the  menials  of  his  wants  ! ,  The  boy  is 
a  slave-holder.  That  is,  he  would  be  one  if  he  could. 
Fortunately  he  cannot  generally*carry  his  views  into 
practice ;  so  he  is  spared  being  a  Hebrew  patriarch  or 
a  mediaeval  baron.  At  seventeen,  give  him  full  power 
to  express  himself  in  action,  he  would  be  Themistocles 
or  the  Sultan  of  Turkey. 

"  Slavery  and  polygamy,  always  inseparable,  are  in 
every  youth.  I  mean  the  spirit  and  will  of  those  in- 
stitutions are  in  undeveloped  human  nature.  Restraints 
of  circumstance  may  prevent  them  from  taking  shape 
in  action.  But  there  they  are,  in  the  boy. 

"  So  much  I  have  known  for  myself,  and  have  seen 
in  others.  Why  not  make  the  statement,  as  any  other 
truth  ? 

"  But,  my  friend,  let  us  think  not  too  ill  of  our  kind. 
You  know  the  features  of  even  the  animals  are  in  us, 
too  plainly  to  be  denied.  Yet  their  rough  forms  are 
much  suppressed  when  we  take  them  on,  and  are  over- 
grown by  our  superior  structure  and  traits.  So,  the 
youth's  outward  action  may  be  decorous  and  pure,  the 
notions  and  desires  of  barbarian  ancestors  being  over- 
borne by  the  weight  of  present  civilization,  until  he  can 
grow,  perhaps  unsullied,  to  the  summit  of  the  loftiest 
thoughts  and  emotions  that  man  has  ever  entertained. 

"  This  constitutes  the  thinker,  great  and  good,  who 


202  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

comprehends  folly  as  well  as  wisdom  ;  for  lie  has  passed 
through  one  state  to  the  other.  He  knows,  from  expe- 
rience, ttyat  love  is  better  than  passion,  that  justice  is 
better  than  will,  that  kindness  is  better  than  hatred, 
that  beneficence  is  better  than  oppression.  He  has 
found  that  life  is  growth.  Not  that  it  is  the  mere  accu- 
mulation of  culture  and  aids  about  a  certain  tone  of 
mind,  which  may  yet  be  selfish  and  low  ;  but  that  it  is 
the  ascension  of  tonifi  of  mind  themselves,  each  into  a 
nobler  and  happier,  until  the  sublime  height  is  reached 
where  the  man  desires  to  resign  himself  to  wisdom,  to 
justice,  to  love,  —  the  height  where  his  will  blends  with 
God's  will,  and  where  his  only  selfishness  is  in  seeking 
welfare  by  subordinating  all  things  to  universal  law,  — 
the  method  and  manner  of  the  One  Only  Perfect. 

"  A  friend  of  mine  had  arrived  at  an  insight  of  this 
last  ascension,  though  too  often  he  stood  at  a  distance, 
looking  rather  than  doing.  He  was  not  always  good, 
though  always  better  than  many  others.  Gross  and 
common  forms  of  sin  were  no  longer  a  temptation  to 
him.  He  preferred  death  to  dishonor ;  poverty  to 
mean  wealth ;  insignificance  to  wrongfully-acquired  pop- 
ularity. He  would  be  his  own  servant  rather  than 
secure  his  leisure  or  elevation  at  another's  expense  and 
degradation.  He  was  true  and  just  to  man,  true  and 
tender  to  woman.  He  would  not  have  held  a  slave  to 
own  a  continent. 

"  But  he  had  not  always  been  so.  He  had  been 
full  of  faults.  He  had  wept  for  not  a  few  sins.  We 
know  that  man  always  errs  and  sins  and  weeps.  My 
friend,  by  stumbling,  had  learned  to  walk  with  surer 
step ;  by  sinning,  he  had  been  taught  to  rise  above 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  203 

many  sins  ;  having  hated,  he  knew  how  to  forgive  ha- 
tred ;  by  weeping,  he  had  felt  how  to  pity  those  who 
wept.  He  was  natural  and  human ;  nothing  more. 
But  many  changes  and  many  periods  of  history  had 
been  incorporated  in  his  experience.  He  knew  how 
events  had  occurred ;  for  they  had  occurred  to  him. 
He  spoke  from  within,  and  with  certainty ;  for  his  mind 
had  been  a  picture  of  the  world,  with  its  lights  and  its 
shades.  The  old  and  the  new  made  the  picture  ;  and 
the  new  included  the  old.  It  was  greater,  nobler,  hap- 
pier ;  so  he  knew  it  was  better. 

"  If  any  one  doubted  his  argument,  as  applied  to 
individuals  or  nations,  he  did  not  deem  it  worth  his 
while  to  dispute.  He  knew  the  doubter  did  not  yet  un- 
derstand himself,  —  that  his  nature  had  not  introduced 
itself  to  his  own  observation  and  reflection. 

"  But  my  letter  has  become  too  long  ;  I  will  close  it. 
I  have  written  only  the  matter  of  your  request,  and 
of  course  the  subject  could  bfe  much  amplified.  But, 
when  writing  or  speaking  to  you,  I  feel  as  though  you 
had  already  uttered  all  that  I  declare. 

"  In  a  week  or  two,  I  trust  I  shall  see  you.  I  intend 
spending  a  few  days  in  Boston.  Then  I  shall  bid  you 
good-by  for  a  long  while.  I  am  going  South  to  phi- 
losophize 'under  brass-buttons  and  danglers.  Yet  how 
can  I  help  it  ?  The  cause  is  very  sacred,  though  many 
of  the  present  motives  connected  with  it  are  little  and 
heartless.  At  starting,  I  shall  want  your  encourage- 
ment and  a  smile.  They  will  be  more  valuable  than 
most  things  I  shall  carry  with  me.  I  think  you  will 
not  refuse  them  to  me. 

"  Your  friend, 

"  EARNEST  ACTON." 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

TEN  days  passed,  and  Earnest  was  in  Boston.  It 
was  not  long,  as  will  easily  be  inferred,  before 
he  presented  himself  to  Stella.  As  he  mounted  the 
steps,  and  stood  in  front  of  the  massive  door  of  her 
residence,  he  could  not  but  remember  how  empty  and 
sombre  the  elegance  of  that  stately  mansion  had  been 
to  its  caged  inmate ;  how  gladly  she  would  have  ex- 
changed it,  and  all  its  surroundings,  for  simple  com- 
fort, and  one  deep,  fond,  sympathetic  heart. 

His  name  was  hardly  announced  when  Stella  met 
him,  with  an  extended  hand,  a  smile,  and  a  slight 
blush. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  "  and  have 
felt  for  several  hours  as  if  you  were  near  me,  although 
I  had  received  no  intimation  of  your  arrival  in  the 
city." 

She  conducted  Earnest  into  a  spacious  drawing- 
room,  and  seated  herself  at  his  side.  They  conversed 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  she  said,  — 

"  Now  that  you  are  here,  my  friend,  you  will  stay 
with  me  a  while,  certainly.  And  we  can  do  quite 
well,  I  presume,  with  no  others  to  enliven  our  con- 
versation. In  this  room  we  may  be  interrupted. 

(204) 


LOVERS  AND   THINKERS.  205 

Some  one  may  call.  Let  us  sit  awhile  in  my  '  sacred 
rooms,'  as  the  domestics  term  the  library  and  a  room 
I  have  used  in  connection  with  it  for  my  music. 
There  we  shall  be  undisturbed." 

Earnest  was  quite  willing  to  accept  her  invitation, 
and  to  see  that  Stella  did  not  shrink  from  him  in  the 
least,  but  seemed  to  desire  that  no  minute  of  their 
interview  should  be  wasted. 

Again  they  were  seated,  side  by  side,  now  in  the 
library.  It  was  a  pleasant  apartment,  of  medium  size, 
furnished  plainly,  yet  with  much  grace  and  elegance. 
Since  Mr.  Torson's  death,  Stella  had  renovated  and 
rearranged  it  in  conformity  with  her  own  ease  and 
tastes.  He  had  filled  it  with  heavy  and  elaborate 
furniture,  which  she  had  removed,  and  replaced  by 
less  weighty  and  cumbrous  articles.  Each  chair  in  the 
room  seemed  to  indicate,  by  its  size  and  shape,  that 
its  occupant  could  find  in  it  a  new  and  relieved  po- 
sition, without  intermission  of  reading  or  meditation. 
Everything  was-  for  use  and  comfort.  Even  the 
pictures  and  ornaments  seemed  for  suggestion.  Con- 
sequently there  was  an  air  of  luxury  about  the  place 
that  no  amount  of  mere  costliness  could  have  pro- 
duced. 

Earnest  observed  this  at  once. 

"  What  a  cosey,  inviting  sanctum  you  have,  to  be 
sure,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  should  think  it  would  almost 
persuade  one  to  laxity  instead  of  application.  Here, 
I  should  count  myself  in  the  paradise  of  the  peaceful, 
I  fear,  and  never  work  for  improvement,  as  my  friend 
has  done." 

"  And  I  could  very  well  dispense  with  the  place," 

18 


206  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

replied  Stella,  "  although  now  that  I  have  it,  I  make 
it  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  then  try  to  occupy 
myself  so  that  I  forget  all  about  it.  I  am  better  con- 
tent here,  and  in  the  other  room  there,  than  elsewhere 
in  the  house." 

So  saying,  she  rose  and  drew  aside  two  large,  mag- 
nificent curtains,  and  revealed  an  apartment  in  which 
was  a  grand-piano,  and  looking  down  on  it  from  every 
side  were  the  tuneful  "  Nine  "  in  marble. 

"  Ah  !  the  home  of  the  Muses,"  said  Earnest. 

"  This,  too,"  she  continued,  "  I  do  not  need.  I 
would  gladly  let  it  go  for  the  gratification  of  simpler 
feelings  than  it  inspires.  But,  you  know,  perhaps, 
that  it  will  not  let  me  go.  So  I  am  as  thankful  as 
may  be,  and  make  the  most  of  my  surroundings." 

"  It  would  be  almost  a  pity,"  Earnest  rejoined,  "  to 
decrease,  in  any  way,  their  elegance  and  suggestiveness. 
Yet  I  am  aware  they  have  not  brought  you  complete 
happiness.  I  suppose,  however,  you  owe  them  a  large 
debt  for  that  very  reason." 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  said  Stella,  "  and  I  try  both  to 
acknowledge  it  frankly  and  to  appreciate  it.  We  are 
all  very  much  beholden  to  our  misfortunes,  as  no  one 
has  declared  to  me  more  clearly  than  yourself.  In 
some  way  we  must  all  be  mellowed  to  a  certain  in- 
difference to  mere  circumstances,  before  we  can  be 
permanently  comfortable.  We  must  be  willing  to 
forego  happiness  before  we  can  be  happy.  Everything 
is  liable  to  be  taken  from  us  but  hope  and  trust.  They 
are  worth  all  the  rest,  and  I  am  thankful  to  \vhatever 
has  been  a  discipline  forcing  me  to  think,  to  feel,  to 
know. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  207 

"  Your  life  lias  been  very  different  from  mine ;  yet, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  we  have  unconsciously  striven 
to  reach  the  same  goal,  —  a  summit  from  which  we 
could  view  the  world  intelligently,  devoid  of  fear, 
of  hate,  of  misgiving.  Our  tortuous  paths  to  the^ 
height  —  the  mere  means  of  gaining  it  —  are  indiffer- 
ent, now  that  they  are  in  the  distance  behind  us.  To 
you,  were  they  ambition? — want  of  wealth,  want  of 
station,  want  of  fame  ?  Were  these  the  dreams  and 
playthings  that  first  drove  you  to  the  highway  of  truth 
and  exertion  ?  Well,  the  result,  my  dear  friend,  is 
generous,  noble  manhood. 

"  To  me,  also,  there  were  dreams  and  toys.  I 
dreamed  of  love,  and  I  longed  for  admiration.  But 
I  wanted  the  best.  Thus  I  too  was  in  search  of 
power,  such  as  it  was ;  thus  I  too  was  inspired  to 
labor.  Then,  when  disappointment  and  pain  came  to 
me,  the  labor  itself  had  become  my  inspiration  and  my 
solace. 

"  I  have  won  something ;  for  it  is  something  to  see 
that  I  can  win  nothing  more  except  by  new  labors 
and  cares  and  duties,  and  to  accept  my  lot  as  Provi- 
dence imposes  it  upon  me.  Nor  is  this  quite  all. 
When  I  met  you,  I  had  so  attuned  the  chords  of  my 
nature  that  it  was  in  harmony  with  yours.  May  I 
say  it  ?  —  I  think  I  could  comprehend  and  appreciate 
you ;  I  am  sure  I  could  respect  you.  If  one  would 
choose  friends,  such  sympathy  is  not  the  least  of  attain- 
ments." 

These  last  words  were  calm.  There  was  no  tremor 
in  Stella's  voice ;  but  that  eye,  —  its  soft,  deep  azure 
was  unspeakably  full.  Earnest  looked  into  it.  His 
spirit  and  his  will  beckoned  it  to  draw  nearer. 


208  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  Your  friends  should  be  very  happy,"  he  said. 
"  God  grant  they  may  never  be  unworthy  of  your 
choice." 

And  as  he  sat  there  by  her  side,  his  soul  still  said : 
jCome,  come,  come !  Her  eyes  she  could  not  take 
from  that  look,  that  imploration,  that  command.  They 
were  fixed,  they  were  charmed,  and  now  they  saw  the 
supplication  alone.  Come,  come,  come  !  —  and  tears 
blinded  the  blue,  and  Stella  was  in  a  lover's  arms,  — 
a  lover  whom  she  loved.  The  arms  folded  her  all 
about,  and  warm  lips  pressed  their  fervor  upon 
hers. 

"  Speak  to  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  it  was  cruel, — 
that  behest  which  I  could  not  disobey,  —  while  yet  I 
feared,  and  grew  weak,  and  —  Earnest,  speak  to  me  !  " 

"  Yes,  my  own,  my  darling,  my  beautiful  queen  !  — 
speak  to  you  and  say  that  your  heart  rests  at  last, 
where  mine  has  throbbed  to  place  it  since  almost  the 
first  moment  I  saw  you ;  where  still  I  dared  not  place 
it,  where  still  I  did  not  mean  to  press  it,  as  now  I  do ! 
For  I  meant  to  bow  lowly,  —  to  tell  you  I  was  a  sup- 
pliant who  asked  merely  to  hope,  —  to  think  sometimes 
of  love  for  some  very  distant  day,  if  life  should  be 
spared,  and  happiness  and  duty  could  be  yours,  while 
you  were  mine. 

"  But  our  hearts  have  spared  me  several  very  gallant 
and  very  self-sacrificing  speeches,"  he  added,  with  a 
smile,  "  while  you,  the  dearest  of  women,  are  here, 
here,  bound  to  my  soul ! 

"  What  have  I  done !  Well,  I  would  not  undo  it. 
We  were  created  to  love  each  other ;  were  we  not, 
my  own  ?  Our  fates  were  joined  when  we  met,  and 


LOVERS  AND   THINKERS.  209 

it  were  better  to  die  for  them,  if  they  ask  it,  than  to 
live  and  forego  this  moment ! " 

Thus  these  two  restrained,  thoughtful  young  people 
had  resigned  themselves  to  their  feelings,  and,  like  the 
children  that  we  all  are  at  many  an  hour,  they  were 
absorbed  and  glad  in  the  present.  But  they  were 
"  children  of  a  larger  growth."  They  knew  their  own 
hearts ;  they  knew  the  hearts  of  others ;  and,  as  all 
emotions  blended  in  the  meeting  of  their  lips,  they 
only  realized  a  rapture  for  which  they  had  long  seemed 
to  be  waiting.  They  did  not  tremble  at  love,  nor 
shrink  from  loving.  They  were  young,  but  they  had 
learned  much ;  and  of  the  heart's  wisdom  they  were 
not  afraid. 

The  hour,  the  morning  passed  away.  Still  they 
were  there  together. 

"  How  happy  I  am,  and  how  secure  ! "  said  Stella, 
as  she  awoke  at  last  to  a  thought  of  the  future. 
"  How  much  delight  I  find  in  these  caresses,  which 
we  cannot  hope  shall  last !  You  are  to  leave  me  in 
a  few  days.  I  cannot  bid  you  stay ;  and  perhaps 
you  will  never  fold  these  arms  about  me  again.  But 
I  know  that  you  love  me.  I  knew  it  before,  my  idol ; 
but  now  you  have  told  me  so,  with  kisses  and  em- 
braces. How  could  I  ever  see  you  turning  fondly  to 
another,  feeling,  as  I  do,  that,  for  both  our  sakes,  you 
should  be  mine,  I  should  be  yours !  Now  we  may 
wait,  we  may  mourn,  we  may  suffer.  You  may  be 
killed,  and  then  I  shall  not  stay  long  here  alone. 
But  what  of  that?  Now  we  can  die  for  love  as  well 
as  for  duty.  We  will  think,  we  will  pray,  we  will  do 

18* 


210  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  . 

no  wrong,    my  guide,    my   guardian,    my  only-loved. 
But  our  hearts  are  bound  together. 

"  We  will  ask  no  promises  ;  we  need  none.  Neither 
of  us  can  be  faithless  in  a  thought.  God  has  given 
me  what  I  have  asked.  Now,  if  he  should  take  it 
away,  I  will  bow,  and  bless  him,  and  die. 

"  Surely  I  do  not  think  that  would  be  so  hard  a 
fate  as  many  another.  Better  so  than  to  live  un- 
loved. Better  so  than  to  live  unloving.  Far  better 
so  than  to  live  for  love  to  chill,  for  enthusiasm  to 
burn  out,  for  life  to  grow  selfish  and  timid  and 
empty.  I  am  right,  dear  Earnest;  am  I  not?  What- 
ever may  come,  we  will  not  regret  this  hour.  I  do 
not  feel  unworthy  of  it ;  for  I  would  give  all  that 
you  would  have  me  give,  for  it  and  for  you. 

"  My  fortune  seems  a  burden,  weighing  me,  as  it 
does,  down,  down,  away  from  you.  How  quickly 
would  I  push  it  from  me,  if  I  could,  to  hear  you  speak 
one  word,  —  call  me  that  nearest,  fondest  name  I  long 
to  hear  as  I  look  at  you  :  —  to  be  yours  wholly,  to  us 
and  to  the  world. 

"  But  no,  you  need  not  speak.  I  know  what  you 
would  say.  We  remain  lovers.  It  is  best  for  us,  best 
for  my  poor  old  parents,  best  for  my  duty.  Were  it 
not  so,  I  would  not  live  apart  from  you  one  moment 
longer  than  you  bade  me.  And,  Earnest,  you  would 
not  hold  me  from  you  long.  Surely  you  would  not. 

"  Let  me   dream.     We   could   live,   if  my   wealth 
should   go.     Hopefully  we   could   live   on   little,   and  " 
thankfully  on  more.     Much,  we  should  not  need  ;  for 
ourselves,  not  our  circumstances,  would  be  our  care. 
Common  vanities  we  have  conquered ;  display  would 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  211 

be  beneath  us  ;  and  the  opinions  of  the  world  regarding 
our  estate,  —  we  have  seen  their  shallowness  too  fully 
to  heed  them.  Something  for  a  little  home  ;  something 
for  a  friend  who  might  come  to  it ;  something  for 
books  and  music ;  then  something  for  the  poorer  man 
or  woman  or  child  we  should  see :  would  this  be  so 
very  hard  to  procure  ?  If  one  could  not  do  it  readily, 
two,  I  think,  could  ;  finding  their  tastes  cultivated  and 
their  improvement  secured  in  the  process. 

"  Earnest,  I  have  often  mourned  over  the  incomplete 
life  I  lead.  Nothing  seems  to  me  so  grand  as  to  elevate 
one's  powers,  whatever  they  may  be,  and  to  impart  the 
result  to  others,  for  their  happiness  and  benefit.  How 
much  time  and  labor,  for  instance,  I  have  given  to  my 
music.  Now  perhaps  you  will  smile,  even  against  your 
better  judgment,  which  will  sustain  me  ;  but  I  have 
often  thought  I  should  delight  to  instruct  others  in  the 
knowledge  and  pleasure  I  have  gained  from  that  de- 
licious source.  And  mind  you,  if  anything  very,  very 
romantic,  or  sad,  or  strange,  should  occur  to  tempt  me, 
I  would  turn  public  or  private  performer  on  my  piano, 
and  show  that  I  had  not  possessed  the  advantages  of 
wealth  so  long,  without  cultivating  some  taste  or  talent 
that  could  enable  me  to  dispense  with  it." 

"  Plush,  my  darling,  I  pray  you  !  "  said  Earnest,  the 
tears  falling  from  his  eyes.  "  Your  dream  is  noble, 
and  for  you  it  is  not  at  all  impracticable.  I  will 
acknowledge  no  sentimentalism  that  would  terrify  me 
at  the  thought  of  congenial  and  worthy  employment,  for 
myself  or  for  any  other  human  being.  But  just  now, 
the  vision  saddens  me.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  my- 
self as  committing  you  to  the  smallest  inconvenience  or 


212  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

discomfort.  I  should  never  have  come  here  if  I  had 
not  intended  to  fly  directly  away  from  you.  I  knew 
you  loved  me.  You  were  to  me  the  dearest  object  on 
earth.  How  could  I  avoid  merely  saying  as  much  ? 
It  seemed  as  if  I  could  even  die  better  and  more  brave- 
ly afterward.  And  in  that  event  you  would  not 
mourn  me  more  than  as  though  I  had  never  allowed 
myself  this  precious  interview. 

"  I  could  not  look  to  the  end.  Yet  I  hoped  that,  in 
the  rapid  changes  of  present  affairs,  your  fortune  would 
soon  cease  to  be  in  the  way  of  the  world's  progress, 
and  that  you  could  do  with  it  as  your  long  considera- 
tion and  deliberate  judgment  might  choose.  Perhaps 
I  have  too  much  confidence  in  myself.  But  I  also 
have  labored  hard  and  a  good  while  to  unfold  certain 
powers  and  attainments.  Certainly,  if  I  were  unable 
to  render  you  and  yours  comfortable,  I  could  quickly 
decide  on  some  things  I  would  not  do. 

"  But  we  will  see.  For  three  years  I  am  vowed  to 
the  service  of  my  country.  What  will  happen  mean- 
while, we  cannot  tell.  But  I  deprive  you  of  nothing 
by  loving  you,  and  I  increase  my  own  happiness  by 
adding  to  it  one  beautiful  hope. 

"  There,  —  a  kiss,  my  darling  Stella,  and  let  me  go 
from  you.  We  have  been  with  each  other  a  long  time. 
This  evening  shall  I  come  again  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THAT  evening,  and  every  evening  for  the  next 
ten  days,  those  two  fond  hearts  were  together. 

This  was  not  all.  Stella  had  suddenly  taken  a 
liking  to  her  carriage.  She  must  ride  to  Bunker  Hill, 
to  Cambridge,  to  Mount  Auburn,  to  Dorchester,  to 
Concord,  —  wherever  there  was  aught  that  Earnest 
spoke  of  with  pleasure  or  enthusiasm,  —  wherever  there 
was  aught  that  Stella  thought  he  would  esteem  or 
admire.  Anything  that  they  might  be  together ;  every- 
thing that  as  few  moments  as  possible  might  be  spent 
apart,  —  this  seemed  her  constant,  almost  her  only 
thought. 

"  My  dear  Earnest,"  she  said,  "  we  can  be  with 
each  other  only  a  little  while ;  then  long,  long  months 
must  drag  heavily  between  us  ;  or  who  knows  what 
besides  ?  I  have  always  lived  in  the  future,  —  always 
given  the  pleasure  of  to-day  for  the  good  of  to-morrow. 
But  now,  during  these  days  you  are  with  me,  I  will 
exist  for  nothing  else  than  for  you  and  for  them. 
They  will  pass  away.  Desolation  may  follow  them. 
But  I  shall  have  known  God's  sweetest  gift. 

"  Yet,  Earnest,  you  will  try  to  come  back  to  me 
again, —  will  you  not  ?  You  will  never  be  reckless,  — 

(213) 


214  LOVERS  AND  TBIXKERS. 

never  run  into  needless  harm !  I  ask  so  much ;  I 
dare  not  ask  more.  For  then  you  would  no  longer 
love  me,  and  I  should  blush  at  seeing  the  image  of 
my  poor,  weak  self.  I  will  never  ask  you  to  be  un- 
worthy. God  help  you  to  do  all  you  ought.  I  bid 
you  go  where  you  should  ;  so,  if  it  be  down  under  the 
red  sod,  my  soul  will  not  be  unworthy  to  follow  yours, 
but  '  will  wake,  and  remember,  and  understand.'  But 
walk  carefully,  Earnest, — my  Earnest  now;  —  walk 
carefully,  where  prudence  shall  not  be  a  crime.  Think 
of  me  always  when  you  can ;  yet  I  too  must  needs 
say,  think  of  duty  first." 

He  kissed  her  fair,  clear  brow  ;  he  kissed  her  warm, 
melting  lips  ;  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 

"  I  will  do  all  you  wish,  Stella.  Let  us  not  paint 
the  future.  I  too,  say,  let  us  live  these  few  days  in 
all  their  sunshine.  How  bright  and  hallowed  they 
are ! " 

They  would  not  stay  always,  —  those  ten  bright, 
sunny  days.  They  were  a  delicious  revel  for  two 
full  souls,  —  a  banquet  of  love  such  as  not  every  life 
affords,  such  as  no  life  often  spreads.  The  chill  whis- 
per that  breathed  of  separation,  stole  among  their  joys 
to  tip  them  with  the  keener  zest.  But  at  last  the 
whisper  was,  "  Now :  the  time  has  come." 

They  tore  themselves  away  from  each  other,  mourn- 
fully, tearfully,  speechlessly.  Yet  the  warm  hands, 
which  wrung  out  the  farewell  that  their  lips  refused 
to  utter,  were  joined  in  hope ;  and  there  was  the 
prayer  to  God,  such  as  is  alone  written  in  the  blood 
of  hearts  that  love,  when  they  are  cleft  asunder,  per 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  215 

haps  for  months  or  years,  —  perhaps  for  so  long  a  season 
that  earth  cannot  again  join  them. 

Now  they  had  parted.  Almost  it  seemed  to  them 
as  if  there  was  no  one  left  alive  in  the  world.  The 
dream  had  ended,  —  the  dream  in  which  all  but  their 
love  was  a  blank.  It  had  ended,  it  was  broken.  But 
they  could  wake  to  nought  else. 

Well,  there  would  be  time  enough  to  wake,  and 
duties  enough  to  be  done.  Let  them  think  yet  a  little 
of  the  heaven  that  was  the  dearest  they  had  found. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

"  G  TELLA,  my  dear,  it  seems  to  me  you  look  very 

^  pale  and  very  sad  this  morning.  May  your  poor 
old  father,  who  hasn't  always  done  the  best  for  you, 
but  has  yet  always  thought  he  loved  you,  ask  why  ?  " 

So  said  Rufus  Maign  to  his  daughter,  the  morning 
after  she  and  Earnest  had  parted. 

The  old  gentleman  had  offered  no  comments  on  any- 
thing that  Stella  had  done,  or  wished  to  do,  since  he 
came  into  her  household.  Not  because  he  selfishly 
feared  to  offend  her,  but  simply  because  he  had  come 
to  think,  at  last,  that  she  was  not  to  be  questioned 
and  judged  like  others.  Her  seclusion  from  choice  ; 
her  tenderness  to  the  humblest  of  those  around  her; 
her  constant  application  to  her  music,  or  to  studies 
deeper  than  he  cared  to  understand  or  investigate ; 
her  wonderful  brilliancy  at  times,  in  the  presence  of 
such  friends  as  she  enjoyed  to  meet ;  and,  withal,  her 
solicitous  care  that  he  who  had  forced  her  to  the  one 
great  sacrifice  of  her  life,  should  have  whatever  could 
make  him  comfortable  and  happy;  —  all  these  things 
had  latterly  impressed  Mr.  Maign  with  his  daughter 
as  with  no  one  else. 

"  Ah  !  mistaken   man    that  I  was ! "  he  had  more 

(216) 


LOVERS  AND   THINKERS.  217 

than  once  soliloquized ;  "  she  was  born  under  a  loftier 
star  than  ever  shone  over  my  old  counting-room.  I 
didn't  comprehend  her.  How  I  wish  I  could  make 
her  amends !  Perhaps  I  can  yet." 

And  ambition  rose  again  beneath  those  gray  hairs ; 
and  he  toiled  and  schemed,  settling  old  debts,  and 
freeing  himself  from  their  weighty  trammels.  Happily 
they  were  not  many  now ;  and  using  a  few  thousands 
of  dollars  as  he  knew  how  to  use  money,  they  were 
soon  cleared  up.  Once  more  he  stood  erect,  owing 
no  man  a  cent,  as  he  declared.  But  still  the  gray 
head  was  busy,  —  crammed  with  money-articles  and 
market-reports.  The  old  merchant  was  again  on  the 
scent,  and  in  a  few  years  who  could  tell  what  might 
happen  to  him  ?  So  he  thought ;  so  he  said  —  to  him- 
self alone. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  since  he  came  to  her  home, 
her  father  asked  a  question  which  Stella  could  answer 
by  any  commonplace,  if  she  chose,  but  which  she 
knew  expressed  a  desire  to  probe  her  heart.  Yet  the 
tone  was  so  kind,  and  the  manner  so  considerate  !  The 
man's  old  haughtiness  and  abruptness  had  all  gone. 

"  Stella,  my  dear,  it  seems  to  me,  you  look  very  pale 
and  very  sad  this  morning.  May  your  poor  old  father, 
who  hasn't  always  done  the  best  for  you,  but  who  has 
yet  always  thought  he  loved  you,  ask  why  ?  " 

Gently  these  words  came  to  the  sadness  of  which 
they  spoke. 

Earnest  had  met  Mr.  Maign  every  day,  —  the 
young  man  coming  in  and  going  out  Ayhen  he  pleased, 
riding  with  Stella,  sitting  hours  with  her  in  the  "  sa- 
cred rooms,"  till  the  servants  stared  with  wonder  at 

19 


218  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

such  unusual  proceedings.  But  not  a  word  had  been 
said  on  the  subject,  and  Mr.  Maign  always  smiled  on 
both  his  daughter  and  her  friend. 

Yet  who  was  he?  It  was  indeed  strange.  ...  A 
young  man  she  had  met  while  visiting  Cora  Clandon ; 
a  good-looking,  well-bred,  intelligent  fellow.  Well, 
Mr.  Maign  would  wait.  Stella  knew  her  own  affairs  ; 
he,  or  any  one  else,  could  well  trust  her.  But  now  he 
asked  the  cause  of  that  pale  cheek,  the  melancholy 
brow,  and  the  eyes  which  seemed  to  have  been  very 
tearful. 

"  Father,  I  will  tell  you.  Why  should  I  not  ?  Mr. 
Acton,  the  young  man  who  has  been  here  during 
these  last  few  days,  I  love  ;  and  I  love  him,  knowing 
that  perhaps  I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

"  And  why  not,  my  daughter  ?  " 

"He  is  going  into  the  army :  —  a  man  who  really 
has  no  more  business  there  than  I  have :  as  gentle 
as  a  woman,  —  shrinking  from  the  least  harshness,  — 
his  mind  having  dwelt  for  years  with  the  sages,  the 
poets,  the  saints.  He  thinks  it  his  duty  to  go,  and 
for  that  he  leaves  a  quiet  seclusion  of  thought  and 
study,  which  to  him  is  a  sort  of  earthly  paradise,  for 
the  life  of  a  soldier.  And  I  know  him.  I  know  his 
will.  That  hand,  which  has  so  tenderly  held  mine, 
will  be  terrible  to  others,  terrible  to  himself,  if  necessary, 
when  it  grasps  a  sword.  He  will  laugh  at  danger,  and 
spurn  security.  Duty  —  solemn,  stern,  unbending  duty 
—  will  be  all  he  thinks  of.  He  is  not  like  most  of 
us.  He  means  and  welcomes  death  in  the  cause,  if 
death  needs  to  come.  Such  a  man  I  have  loved,  and 
have  seen  him  leave  me.  Yes,  I  am  very  sad." 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  219 

And  tears  gushed  from  Stella's  lids,  and  her  head 
fell  upon  her  hand. 

Presently  she  looked  up  and  continued. 

"  I  have  told  you  all.  It  was  your  due.  It  seemed 
strange  to  you,  no  doubt,  that  a  man  you  had  never 
before  seen  should  be  with  me  almost  constantly.  But 
we  loved,  —  had  done  so  in  spite  of  ourselves.  We  were 
not  to  remain  with  each  other.  I  knew  there  would 
be  time  enough  to  think,  to  consider  everything,  after 
he  had  gone :  —  perhaps  a  whole  lifetime.  So  we  filled 
the  hour  as  it  came." 

"  Who  is  he,  Stella  ?  Is  he  rich,  or  poor  ?  No,  no, 
my  good  girl ;  don't  curl  your  lip  so.  I'm  not  going 
to  deserve  it.  I  know  you  think  I've  considered  that 
question  once  too  often,  at  least,  already.  So  I  have, 
dear ;  but  this  time,  you  mustn't  blame  me.  You 
shall  have  no  reason  to  do  so.  Let  me  come  fo  the 
point,  then,  as  soon  as  I  can.  Thanks  to  you,  I've 
paid  all  my  miserable  debts  that  have  been  hanging 
over  me,  and  I've  made  a  little  besides.  In  my  judg- 
ment, there  was  never,  since  I  was  born,  such  a  time 
to  make  money  as  now.  In  two  years  I  mean  to 
make  twenty  thousand  dollars.  I  think  I  can  do  it. 
I  couldn't  understand  such  a  girl  as  you.  I  did  you 
wrong.  But  the  old  post-horse  is  good  for  something 
yet,  in  his  own  way.  In  two  years,  I  say,  I  mean 
to  have  twenty  thousand  dollars.  I've  almost  broken 
your  heart ;  but  I'll  try  hard  to  mend  it.  I  want  the 
money  for  you.  If  the  young  man  should  live  to 
come  back,  you  shall  have  it,  or  he  shall  have  it,  or 
we  will  do  what  you  like  with  it.  I  couldn't  buy  you 
such  a  house  as  this,  or  the  one  we  used  to  have.  But 


220  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

I  know  you  now  :  you  wouldn't  care  for  it.  I'd  do 
my  best,  and  maybe  make  you  happy.  Then  you 
could  leave  these  traps  of  Jabed's  behind  you,  or  let 
them  go  to  the  secessionists  and  the  dominies,  if  they 
must.  The  will  was  a  bad  affair,  a  bad  affair,  —  the 
meanest  of  all,  —  curse  the  thing  I  But  we'll  get  the 
better  of  it  somehow.  Yes  we  will,  Stella,  my  dear 
child,  and  you  shall  be  content." 

Stella  was  speechless  with  surprise.  Such  words 
from  such  a  father !  —  a  man  who  had  always  been 
grasping,  and  worldly,  and  vain,  —  whose  first  thought 
and  foremost  endeavor  had  been  possession,  accumula- 
tion. What  had  effected  so  vast  a  change  ?  Was  it 
the  loss  of  his  money  ?  Was  it  her  imprisonment  in 
her  own  wealth  ? 

She  had  noticed  that,  since  he  first  came  to  Boston, 
he  had  been  ceaselessly  active,  —  busy  in  the  morning, 
thoughtful  and  engrossed  in  the  evening.  He  gave 
himself  scarcely  any  relaxation,  unless  when  it  was  her 
hour  for  sitting  with  him  and  conversing,  and  some- 
times smoothing  his  white  hair.  Then  the  restless, 
knitted  brow  became  unoccupied  and  sunny. 

Had  he  observed  her  loneliness  of  heart,  which  had 
nearly  become  an  accepted  part  of  her  life  ?  —  that 
loneliness  which  her  retirement,  her  music,  her  stud- 
ies, had  so  often  been  evoked  to  solace  and  to  cheer? 
She  could  not  tell.  She  had  striven  to  appear  happy, 
that  he  might  not  be  reminded  of  his  having  impelled 
her  to  be  sorrowful.  She  had  often  really  felt  happy  in 
seeing  him  once  more  occupied  and  unbroken. 

But  he  had  made  no  allusion  to  former  days,  to  her 
husband,  or  to  any  alteration  of  his  own  vkws  and  pur- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  221 

poses,  until  now.  Now  she  comprehended,  in  an  in- 
stant, the  meaning  of  that  renewed  energy,  that  intent, 
anxious,  tireless  look. 

She  was  too  deeply  moved  to  speak  ;  but  she  went 
to  her  father,  and  putting  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
kissed  his  forehead  and  his  lips,  then  hurried  out  of 
the  dining-hall  to  her  own  room. 

The  name  of  father  had  now  a  significance  which 
it  had  not  hitherto  borne,  —  which  she  had  longed, 
only,  that  it  could  bear. 
19* 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

WITHIN  a  week  after  leaving  Stella,  Lieutenant 
Earnest  Acton  was  in  the  Volunteer  Service  of 
the  United  States. 

When  he  first  thought  of  entering  that  service,  he 
had  determined  to  do  so  as  a  soldier  in  the  ranks.  He 
felt  himself  without  capacity  to  lead  men  to  battle. 
But  many  others,  possessing  quite  as  meagre  an  ac- 
quaintance with  the  "  tactics  "  as  he,  were  stepping  for- 
ward, ready  to  take  high  places.  Young  merchants, 
and  clerks,  and  lawyers,  competent  enough,  doubtless, 
in  their  several  employments,  appeared .  to  gauge  their 
modesty  and  their  yet  undeveloped  military  skill,  pre- 
cisely by  the  best  possible  positions  they  could  secure. 
It  is  certainly  well  for  soldiers,  as  for  other  men,  to 
have  confidence  in  themselves,  if  they  would  succeed. 
But  Earnest  supposed  that  being  a  commander  implied 
fulfilling  the  duties  of  such  a  person  ;  and  although  he 
strongly  inclined  to  trust  genius  and  native  good  sense 
more  than  mere  drill  and  routine,  he  fancied  that  he 
ought  to  know  something  of  these  things,  before  aspiring 
to  a  trust  which  might  easily  involve  a  considerable 
number  of  precious  lives. 

"  But  bother  your  fancies,"  said  Captain  Norcum, 

(222) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  223 

the  friend  in  whose  company  Earnest  had  purposed 
enlisting ;  "  you  shall  go  as  one  of  my  officers,  if  you 
go  with  me.  Your  conscientious  hesitation  is  all  very 
fine.  But  you  have  a  head  and  a  heart ;  and  those  aro 
things,  I  can  tell  you,  that  will  be  very  much  in  de- 
mand. Come ;  I  am  considered  quite  proficient,  as 
holiday  captains  average ;  but  you  shall  be  my  twin  in 
tactics  before  the  month  is  over. 

"  Besides,"  added  the  jolly  captain,  laughing,  "  you 
can  resign,  you  know,  and  step  into  the  ranks,  any  time 
you  please.  You  shall  be  my  first  lieutenant.  Alf 
Bowles  will  be  second." 

But  Earnest  declined. 

"Well,  then,  Bowles  shall  be  your  superior.  You 
take  the  place  I  had  intended  for  him." 

"  I  will  try  it,"  said  Earnest,  and  the  matter  was 
settled. 

As  every  newspaper  teems  with  accounts  of  battles/ 
and  with  the  details  of  camp  and  field  life,  it  would  be 
almost  uninteresting  to  follow  Earnest  through  the  par- 
ticulars of  his  military  experience. 

From  Ironton,  his  regiment  was  sent  to  Fortress 
Monroe,  where  it  remained  while  the  battle  of  Bull 
Run  was  fought  and  lost. 

Earnest's  first  taste  of  warfare  was  at  Bethel, — an 
unfortunate  and  inglorious  taste,  he  thought ;  and 
especially  bitter,  as  the  following  day  he  learned  the 
fate  of  Major  Winthrop,  the  eager  and  devoted,  whom 
at  first  sight  he  had  admired  as  a  great-hearted,  cultured 
gentleman,  and  had  loved  as  native  to  a  more  generous 
and  genial  world  than  our  poor  eyes  are  accustomed  to 
behold. 


224  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

The  Major  fell  on  Monday.  The  Saturday  prece- 
ding, Earnest  with  fourteen  of  his  men,  was  out  on  a 
scouting  expedition  between  Hampton  and  Bethel, 
when  suddenly  a  party  of  rebels,  numbering  twenty  or 
morer  and  mounted,  appeared  on  the  road,  swung  round 
a  brass  howitzer,  and  let  fly  at  the  fifteen.  Earnest 
ordered  his  men  to  the  side  of  the  road,  where  they 
were  partly  sheltered  by  woods;  and  by  some  loud 
shouting  to  imaginary  reinforcements,  and  by  a  cool 
use  of  the  muskets,  he  beat  a  safe  retreat  for  his  own 
party,  having  had  the  grim  satisfaction  of  seeing  two  of 
the  enemy  fall  from  their  horses,  wounded  or  dead. 

He  supposed  that,  all  things  considered,  he  had  done 
pretty  well,  and  was  not  dissatisfied  with  the  exploit. 
But  presently  he  met  Major  Winthrop,  who  rode  up 
and  questioned  him  minutely  about  the  skirmis. 

He  answered,  stating  the  number  of  rebels  and  the 
number  of  his  own  men. 

That  dashing  hero's  eye  glistened. 

"  Twenty  rebs !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  and  you  were 
fifteen  !  Why  didn't  you  take  their  gun  ?  " 

This  view  of  the  case  had  not  entered  Earnest's 
mind ;  and  the  attempt  would  certainly  have  appeared 
somewhat  rash.  But  he  felt,  instantly,  that  if  Major 
Winthrop  had  been  in  command  of  the  fourteen,  the 
effort  would  have  been  made  to  capture  the  howitzer. 

Perhaps  it  would  have  succeeded.  Perhaps  the  hero 
would  have  fallen  two  days  sooner  than  he  did,  —  "  the 
only  brave  man,"  as  the  rebels  declared,  that  they  saw 
among  the  Union  soldiers,  on  the  memorable  day  of  his 
death. 

But  what  was  his  own  life  to  that  great,  magnani- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  225 

mous  heart,  that  keen,  thoughtful  spirit  ?  One  of  the 
few  was  he,  who  knew  the  magnitude  of  the  struggle 
to  which  he  had  given  himself,  —  knew  the  North, 
knew  the  South.  Freedom  for  mankind  he  asked  ;  not 
long  life  for  Theodore  Winthrop,  who  was  ready  and 
willing  to  die"  that  his  country  might  live.  To  be  early 
in  heaven  was  for  such  as  he  ! 

On  the  31st  of  May,  1862,  Earnest  was  in  the  van  of 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  He  was  now  Captain 
Acton.  He  had  been  in  the  service  a  few  days  more 
than  a  year,  having  passed  through  four  battles  and 
nine  skirmishes  without  a  scratch.  Eleven  days  he 
had  been  in  the  hospital,  and  every  other  day  on  duty. 
He  had  not  been  home,  nor  had  he  asked  to  go.  Stern- 
ly punctual,  and  ever  ready  at  his  post,  he  had  waited 
upon  duty  or  death,  as  that  which  he  had  come  to  do, 
that  to  be  done.  No  wonder  he  was  loved  by  his  men  ; 
no  wonder  he  was  trusted  by  all. 

In  another  week  he  was  to  be  a  lieutenant-colonel. 
Captain,  now  Colonel,  Norcum  was  in  command  of  the 
regiment.  By  rank,  the  post  of  lieutenant-colonel  be- 
longed to  Alfred  Bowles.  But  his  turn  had  come  to 
be  magnanimous.  He  was  a  good-hearted,  faithful 
officer,  yet  slow,  and  wanting  in  address ;  while  the 
quick,  cultivated  mind  of  Earnest  had  enabled  him  to 
become  "  every  inch  a  soldier ; "  and  his  natural  free 
and  easy  kindness,  all  of  which  he  could  express,  had 
made  him  the  pet  of  the  rank  and  file.  Besides,  he 
had  twice  ventured  his  life  to  save  that  of  another,  and 
each  time  it  was  a  private  not  belonging  to  his  own 
company.  In  one  of  these  instances,  he  carried  off  a 


22G  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

wounded  man  in  his  arms,  and  with  his  pistol  disabled 
two  of  the  enemy  who  were  trying  to  oppose  him. 

The  example  of  personal  valor,  and  his  invariable 
touch  of  the  cap  to  the  humblest,  were  in  themselves 
sufficient  to  make  him  the  private's  favorite.  But 
beyond  this,  he  had  the  name  of  strict  temperance 
and  unmistakable  integrity.  When,  therefore,  Major 
Bowles  received  friendly  intimation  that  the  lieutenant- 
colonelcy  would  shortly  devolve  on  him,  by  the  resig- 
nation of  the  incumbent,  he  frankly  said,  in  his  homely 
but  noble  way,  that  he  knew  of  a  better  man ;  and  if 
the  boys  all  round  would' nt  object,  he  would  hold  his 
own,  and  see  Captain  Acton  go  over  him. 

The  offer  was  hailed  with  applause,  and  a  torrent  of 
compliments  soon  rolled  upon  the  honest  Bowles  from 
officers  and  men. 

"  It  is  very  generous  in  you,"  said  Colonel  Norcum, 
"  yet  I  think  you'll  never  regret  it.  Between  you  and 
me,  Acton  is  to-day  better  able  to  lead  the  entire  army, 
than  some  others  that  you  and  I  know  of.  He  means 
fight,  at  least." 

But  the  .plans  of  Major  Bowles  were  destined  to  be 
sadly  frustrated  in  every  way.  In  his  self-sacrificing 
estimate,  he  had  not  taken  into  account  that  in  a  few 
days  was  to  be  fought,  and  lost,  and  won,  the  battle  of 
Fair  Oaks.  On  the  31st  of  May,  and  on  the  1st  of 
June,  1862,  such  was  the  work  to  be  done. 

The  record  of  the  battle  is  known.  Heavily,  and  in 
force,  the  Confederates  bore  down  from  Richmond  on 
General  Casey's  division,  shattering,  and  forcing  it  back 
upon  the  larger  body.  Then  came  the  fearful,  the 
desperate  struggle  for  recovery.  Colonel  Norcum's 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  227 

regiment  was  to  have  its  mettle  thoroughly  tested. 
Gallantly  it  went  into  the  fray,  its  gallant  colonel  at 
the  head.  Another  instant,  and  he  was  thrown  speech- 
less to  the  ground,  his  horse  killed  by  a  shell.  The 
lieutenant-colonel  was  sick,  and  absent  from  the  field. 
Major  Bowles  did  his  utmost,  rushing  to  Colonel  Nor- 
cum's  post,  and  holding  the  regiment  firmly  up  to  its 
task.  But  those  terrible  rebel  sharp-shooters  coveted 
the  life  of  so  brave  and  upright  a  man.  He,  too,  fell 
from  his  horse,  shot  through  the  body.  As  he  was 
raised  for  an  instant,  he  spoke  the  name  of  Captain 
Acton,  glanced  at  the  line,  and  fell  back  dead. 

The  regiment  began  to  waver.  There  was  not  an 
instant  to  be  lost.  Earnest  leaped  upon  his  friend's 
horse,  which  had  not  been  harmed,  and  thundered 
along  the  front. 

"  Boys  !  "  he  shouted,  "  will  you  see  me  die  alone  ? 
Come  !  Once  more  !  "  And  away  he  dashed,  straight 
for  the  rebel  columns. 

With  a  mournful,  dissonant  yell,  the  "  boys  "  fol- 
lowed him.  They  fought  like  a  regiment  of  tigers  over 
their  young.  Yet  they  lost  ground,  foot  by  foot,  inch 
by  inch.  Only  once  they  gained  a  few  rods.  Earnest 
had  shared,  in  part,  the  fate  of  his  colonel  and  major, 
having  been  violently  dismounted,  and  shot  in  two 
places,  through  the  neck  and  the  arm.  Then  the 
regiment,  especially  the  members  of  his  own  company, 
seemed  to  stake  everything  on  him.  Without  com- 
mand, but  with  united  impulse,  the  latter  forced  their 
way  to  his  body,  supported  by  frantic  squads  along  the 
line.  Fifteen  Federal  soldiers,  seventeen  Confederates, 
lay  dead  and  dying,  immediately  around  him,  on  that 


228  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

disputed  piece  of  ground.  But  he  was  borne  from  it, 
at  last,  by  those  who  would  know  nothing  else,  for  the 
time,  than  to  achieve  their  purpose,  or  to  die. 

He  had  done  all  that  man  could  there  do ;  and  they 
had  done  for  him  all  that  mortal  might  can  be  inspired 
to  do  for  one  who  loves  and  honors  men. 

On  the  2d  of  June,  removed  from  the  late  scene 
of  conflict,  Earnest  was  receiving  what  care  and  atten- 
tion could  be  bestowed  on  him  by  the  as  yet  dishonest 
and  ill-regulated  medical  and  commissary  departments 

qt  F .  His  wounds  had  been  probed  and  dressed, 

and  it  was  thought  he  would  recover.  Two  telegrams 
had  been  sent  homeward,  one  to  his  father,  at  Iron- 
ton,  one  to  Stella,  at  Boston,  stating  that  he  was  badly 
wounded,  but  doing  well. 

From  the  moment  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Fair 
Oaks  reached  Stella,  she  had  been  exceedingly  dis- 
tressed, as  if  with  a  presentiment  of  terror  and  mis- 
fortune. Her  determination  was  fixed.  If  word  should 
come  from  Earnest  that  he  was  in  danger,  she  would 
go  to  him  herself,  and  provide  for  his  wants.  The 
word  came.  It  was  brought  to  her  at  the  same  time 
with  a  letter,  the  superscription  of  which  she  recognized 
as  the  handwriting  of  Cora  Clandon.  She  read  the 
dispatch,  and  threw  the  letter  aside.  She  then  wrote 
a  short  note  to  Earnest's  father,  informing  him  that 
within  an  hour  she  should  be  on  the  way  to  Washing- 
ton, accompanied  by  her  butler,  —  an  old  and  trusty 

servant,  —  and  should  proceed  immediately  to  F , 

to  take  care  of  Captain  Acton,  and  to  supply  him  with 
every  comfort  and  attention. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  229 

She  called  the  man  whom  she  intended  to  take 
with  her,  and,  to  the  utter  amazement  of  that  worthy 
individual,  which  his  rather  dark  mulatto  face  did  not 
fail  to  show,  asked  him  to  have  a  carriage  at  the  door 
in  forty  minutes,  and  be  prepared  to  accompany  her  to 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 

"  Don't  wait  for  explanations,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  lived  with  me  five  years,  and  know  me.  Please 
get  ready  at  once." 

"  Yes,  ma'am."     And  the  old  butler  left  her. 

Stella  went  to  her  room,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  was  draped  in  plain  gray  travelling  apparel. 

Late  the  next  night  she  was  at  F -,  and  was 

inquiring  for  Earnest. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  who  waits  to  see  him  ?  "  asked 
the  person  to  whom  she  was  addressing  her  ques- 
tions. 

"Yes,  a  sister,  —  the  dearest  he  has  on  earth." 

She  was  in  no  mood  for  formalities. 

How  surprising,  and  how  welcome  was  her  tired, 
anxious,  sleepless  face,  to  the  wounded  young  lover, 
pale  and  haggard,  lying  there  on  his  pallet ! 

"  Ah !  Stella,  I  can  want  nothing  now  \  "  he  mur- 
mured, as  he  saw  her  ;  "  but  what  a  place  for  you  !  " 

"  Never  mind  that,"  she  replied.  "  But  you  must 
be  quiet.  I  shall  stay  with  you." 

Fortunate  was  the  young  soldier  to  receive  such 
care  as  that  which,  during  the  next  two  weeks,  was 
supplied  by  Stella.  Carefully  was  every  direction  fol- 
lowed by  a  nurse  who  had  so  much  to  gain  or  lose. 
Tenderly  were  his  parched  lips  moistened  ;  tenderly 
his  hot  brow  bathed.  Gentle  was  the  restraint  which 
20 


230  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

soothed  him  to'  sleep,  when  his  mind  Avandered  away 
into  the  Conflict  again,  and  he  shouted  and  begged  to 
be  followed  to  the  death.  Bravely  she  bore  it,  when 
one  of  the  surgeons  told  her  that,  in  his  next  lucid 
interval,  if  she  had  anything  she  was  especially  de- 
sirous of  saying  to  him,  it  would  be  well  to  communi- 
cate it ;  for  he  feared  that  Captain  Acton  would  live 
but  a  few  hours  longer.  Tearfully  at  last,  and  only 
then,  she  sank  away,  completely  overcome,  when 
Earnest  was  pronounced  not  dead,  but  strangely  bet- 
ter, and  but  of  all  danger.  Then  she  slept  a  long, 
deep,  heavy  sleep,  from  which  it  appeared  almost  as 
difficult  to  waken  her  as  it  had  been  to  recall  her 
enfeebled  lover  from  his  decline  toward  the  land  of 
shadows. 

But  the  burden  had  been  lifted  from  her,  her  prayers 
had  been  answered,  and  her  heart,  was  filled  with 
thankfulness  and  joy. 

Five  days  still  she  lingered  at  F ,  an  angel  of 

mercy  in  the  abode  of  desolation.  Not  Earnest  alone, 


prayed  that  God  would  spare  "  the  sweet  lady's 
brother  "  to  her  who  had  a  kind  word  and  a  helpful 
hand  for  every  one  she  came  near. 

In  fact,  there  were  some  special  reasons  for  their 
benedictions.  Soon  after  her  arrival,  she  had  ascer- 
tained that  some  of  the  pale  skeleton-figures  she  saw 
—  young  men,  many  of  whom  had  left  good  homes, 
to  fight  and  die  for  their  country  —  were  here  actually 
pinched  with  hunger,  —  put  off  with  pitiful,  undue 
allowances  of  food,  that  the  blood-suckers  of  the  com- 
missariat might  fatten  their  pockets  upon  these  ghastly 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  231 

cheeks.  What  could  she  do  ?  Nothing  but  send  John, 
her  dark  butler,  to  the  nearest  place  where  provisions 
could  be  procured,  hand  him  her  purse,  and  order 
him  to  buy  whatever  was  needed,  without  stint.  In 
her  flame  of  indignation  and  grief,  she  thought  not 

o  o          *  o 

of  the  consequence  to  herself,  —  thought  not  of  the 
annual  allowance  for  charity  to  which  she  was  lim- 
ited, —  but  only  remembered  that  she  had  a  plenty  of 
money  with  her,  and  that  servants  of  their  country 
and  their  God  were  literally  starving  to  death  under 
her  eye. 

John  employed  the  purse  freely,  and  gave  it  back 
to  her  lighter  by  nearly  six  hundred  dollars.  He  was 
honest  to  buy,  and  faithful  to  distribute ;  and  was  un- 
accustomed to  question  whatever  he  was  told  to  do. 

"  Madam,  my  mistress,  wished  me  to  bring  you 
this  ;  and  would,  you  like  some  of  this  ?  " 

Then  tears  would  well  up  to  the  eyes  of  those 
rouo-h  men,  their  languid  faces  would  brighten,  and 

o  *  o  o  ' 

their  voices  grow  very  soft. 

Later,  the  report  was  circulated  that  the  mysterious 
lady  who  had  come  to  attend  Captain  Acton,  whether 
his  sister  or  not,  was  very  rich,  —  worth  millions  ;  that 
she  was  personally  acquainted  with  the  Secretary  of 
War;  that  she  would  represent  affairs  to  him  as  she 
had  seen  them  here ;  and  that  somebody  would  be 
sure  to  suffer  in  consequence. 

She  allowed  the  report  to  pass  for  what  it  was  worth, 
and  instructed  John  not  to  lessen  its  value. 

When,  a  few  days  afterward,  a  certain  burly-faced 
quartermaster  desired  to  be  presented  to  her,  she  replied, 
loftily,  that  she  should  be  very  sorry  to  form  the 


232  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

acquaintance  of  so  unscrupulous  a  man,  and  should  not 
only Hbc  reluctant  to  take  his  hand,  but,  if  matters  were 
not  mended,  she  should  do  what  little  she  could  to  pre- 
vent that  hand  from  repeating  its  recent  niggardly  acts. 

Her  words,  her  look,  her  bearing,  were  not  to  be 
mistaken.  She  was  evidently  a  lady,  and  had  money. 
The  plethoric  rascal  of  the  commissariat  was  satisfied 
on  this  point,  and  Stella  had  the  happiness  to  see  an 
immediate  change  in  the  rations. 

But  for  the  accidental  rumor  of  her  wonderful  in- 
fluence with  governmental  functionaries,  which  some 
imaginative  youth  had  probably  dreamed,  she  would 
never  have  thought  of  attempting  to  displace  a  quarter- 
master of  volunteers.  On  her  return  to  Washington, 
however,  she  did  make  the  attempt,  in  person,  stating 
who  she  was  and  what  she  had  witnessed.  Her  words 
carried  with  them  the  weight  of  indignant  truth, 
which  it  almost  choked  her  to  utter ;  and  the  tears 
which  she  could  not  suppress  were  perhaps  eloquent. 
At  any  rate,  Earnest,  who  was  yet  unable  to  start  for 
home  when  she  departed  from  F — — ,  wrote  to  her  that, 
three  days  after  she  left  him,  the  man  of  whom  she  had 
complained  had  been  ignominiously  dismissed  from  the 
service,  and  that  the  poor  fellows  she  had  fed  from  her 
bounty  were  then  fully  impressed  with  the  belief  that 
his  "  sister"  was  a  "near  relation  of  Mrs.  Lincoln." 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

STELLA  had  been  at  home  several  days,  when  sud- 
denly the  recollection  of  Cora's  unopened  letter 
occurred  to  her.  She  had  been  pondering,  with  some 
mortification,  her  hasty  benevolence  to  the  soldiers  at 

F ,  which,  if  it  should  come  to  light,  or  should  be 

honestly  revealed  by  herself,  as  she  believed  it  ought  to 
be,  might  deprive  her  of  her  fortune. 

The  issue  could  easily  be  avoided.  She  could  call 
the  money  she  had  spent,  her  father's  ;  she  could  say 
that  John  had  exceeded,  in  his  purchases,  the  amount 
she  had  designed  he  should  expend ;  she  could  replace 
the  money  in  a  hundred  different  ways.  But  had  she, 
or  had  she  not,  really,  though  unthinkingly,  broken 
one  of  the  provisions  of  her  husband's  will  ?  She 
acknowledged  that  she  had. 

What,  then,  was  her  pleasure  and  surprise,  as  she 
read  Cora's  long,  chatty  epistle. 

"  DEAR,  DEAR  STELLA  :  — 

"I've  lots  to  tell  you,  —  lots  to  begin  with,  about 
yourself,  and  another  sweet,  charming  dear,  and  Cap- 
tain Bub.  She  —  the  lady  sweet  and  charming  —  is 

20*  (233) 


234  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

a  Southerner,  or  pretty  nearly  one,  and  Captain  Bub 
likes  her.  She  is  a  relation  of  yours  that  you  have 
never  seen  and  don't  know  ;  and  the  whole  matter 
is  romantic  and  curious  enough  for  a  novel. 

"  You  remember,  Captain  Bub  went  to  New  Or- 
leans with  General  Butler.  Well,  only  a  few  days 
after  he  arrived  there,  a  young  lady  accosted  him  in 
the  street,  and  asked  if  he  would  be  kind  enough  to 
conduct  her  to  the  commanding  general.  She  was  very 
genteel  and  modest,  and  didn't  offer  to.  spit  on  him, 
or  pretend  to  be  sick  at  the  stomach  when  he  touched 
his  cap.  (Captain  Bub  is  always  very  gentlemanly,  if 
he  is  my  brother.)  He  told  her  he  should  be  very 
happy  to  conduct  her  to  General  Butler,  but  that  the 
general  was  engaged,  and  would  probably  not  be  able 
to  see  her  before  the  next  day.  At  this  she  appeared 
utterly  dejected ;  and  she  kept  looking  behind  her,  as 
if  she  was  afraid  of  something.  He  stood  in  front  of 
her,  with  his  cap  lifted  from  his  head  (I  can  see  just 
how  graceful  and  handsome  he  looked),  and,  when  the 
pitiful  tears  fell  from  her  eyes,  he  asked  her  if  it 
would  be  possible  for  one  of  General  Butler's  subor- 
dinate officers  and  one  of  his  particular  friends  to  be 
of  any  immediate  service  to  her ;  at  the  same  time 
handing  her  his  card,  with  the  name  of  Captain  Law- 
rence Ide  Clandon  on  it. 

"  '  I  don't  know,'  she  answered ;  '  but  I  think  you 
can  if  you  will.'  Then,  looking  straight  into  his  face, 
but  blushing  as  she  did  so,  she  asked :  '  Do  I  look 
like  an  honest  person  ? '  and,  turning  away,  she  wept 
like  a  flood. 

"  '  By   Jove  !   you   do  !  '    exclaimed   Captain   Bub. 


LOVERS  AND   THINKERS.  235 

'  It  would  be  unsafe  for  a  man  to  tell  me  you  do 
not.' 

"  '  Then  can  you  see  that  I  am  protected  —  pro- 
tected even  from  arrest  as  a  thief,  it  may  be  —  until 
General  Butler  can  see  and  hear  me  ? ' 

"  Captain  Bub  looked  at  her  with  perfect  astonish- 
ment. She  bore  every  mark  of  being  an  amiable  and 
cultivated  lady.  Her  conversation  and  manners  both 
indicated  it.  Moreover,  she  was  very  pretty,  — ^  not 
quite  so  tall  as  you,  and  rather  stouter,  —  with  dark 
hair,  brown  eyes,  prominent  but  regular  features,  and 
an  unusually  intelligent  and  sweet  expression.  Cap- 
tain Bub  was  struck  with  her.  He  pitied  her,  and 
instinctively  perceived  that  there  couldn't  be  any  cause 
to  charge  her  with  crime. 

"  '  I  think,'  he  said,  '  that  a  word  to  General  Butler 
will  procure  me  permission  to  keep  you  from  all  harm. 
But  the  general  will  want  to  know  your  whole  case  in 
twenty  seconds.  May  I  ask  you  some  questions,  so  as 
to  speak  intelligently  to  him  ?  He  never  admits  any- 
thing on  one's  predilection  or  supposition,  but  dives 
right  for  the  facts.' 

O 

"  Meanwhile,  since  Captain  Bub  had  noticed  her 
frightened  glances  backward,  they  had  naturally  walked 
towards  General  Butler's  quarters. 

"Clara  —  that  is  the  young  lady's  name — Clara 
Summers  —  appeared  perplexed  and  abashed  at  the 
further  information  thus  demanded  of  her  by  a  young 
stranger-officer ;  and  she  hesitated  for  a  moment. 
Then,  looking  up  into  his  face,  she  inquired,  '  Have 
you  a  wife,  or  a  dear  sister  ? ' 

"  Captain    Bub    smiled,   and    said,    '  I   am   not  so 


236  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

fortunate  as  to  have  a  wife  yet ;  but  I  have  a  very  dear 
sister,  not  far  from  your  own  age,  as  I  should  guess.' 
(Of  course  he  meant  me,  Stella.  I'm  glad  that  he 
and  I  think  so  much  of  each  other.) 

"  '  I'll  tell  you  my  story,'  Clara  said  to  him.  '  But 
it  is  shocking,  and  would  be  painful  to  relate  even  to 
your  sister,  if  she  were  my  near  friend.  Think  of 
what  she  would  have  to  do  if  in  my  place ;  and  for- 
give me  for  telling  you  some  such  dreadful  things  as 
I  must  refer  to  if  you  are  to  hear  the  truth.' 

"  Then  she  gave  him  an  outline  of  her  whole  his- 
tory. 

"  She  was  born  in  Virginia ;  but  her  parents  came 
from  Boston.  Her  father's  name  was  James  Summers. 
Her  mother's  maiden  name  was  Julia  Torson. 

"  You  will  see  instantly  that  Clara  is  your  husband's 
niece,  —  the  person  who,  if  found,  was  to  have  his  prop- 
erty, in  case  you  shouldn't  abide  by  the  will.  Isn't  it 
funny  that  she  should  turn  up  in  this  way,  and  now  be 
actually  in  the  house  of  your  best  friend  ?  —  for  she  is 
here  with  me. 

"  But  I  must  go  back  to  the  story. 

"  When  Clara's  mother  was  a  young  lady,  she  was 
a  great  favorite,  it  seems,  with  some  old  stick  or  other 
in  Boston,  who  was  very  rich,  and  whom  her  father 
desired  she  should  marry.  But  she  couldn't  be  per- 
suaded to  do  it.  She  had  formed  certain  preferences 
of  her  own,  which  were  in  the  way  of  any  such 
arrangement.  The  affair  ended  by  her  marrying 
Mr.  Summers,  —  a  young  man  whom  she  loved,  —  and 
being  forbidden  ever  afterwards  to  enter  her  father's 
house. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  237 

"  Her  brother,  who  was  several  years  older  than 
she,  and  who  had  already  acquired  some  property, 
sided  with  her  father,  called  her  a  fool,  and  said  she 
had  disgraced  them  both. 

"  It  wasn't  so  very  easy  to  see  why ;  for  Mr. 
Summers  was  a  young  lawyer  of  considerable  promise, 
who  soon  moved  with  his  wife  to  Virginia,  becoming 
successful,  and  even  quite  distinguished  in  his  profes- 
sion. 

"  But  he  had  one  proud  fault.  Having  been  snubbed 
by  his  wife's  father  and  brother,  he  was  determined 
to  maintain  her  in  style  and  affluence.  He  did  so ; 
but  spent  his  income,  instead  of  saving  it.  He  was 
young,  and  his  practice  was  constantly  increasing.  He 
thought  there  would  be  time  enough  to  accumulate 
money  when  he  desired. 

"  It  was  so  for  eleven  years ;  when  suddenly  he 
died. 

"  His  wife  had  been  more  prudent  than  he.  She 
had  persuaded  him  to  buy  a  house,  at  one  time  when 
he  was  able  to  make  the  investment ;  and  when  his 
affairs  were  settled  up,  she  found  herself  in  possession 
of  this  and  some  other  property,  which,  being  sold, 
yielded  her  a  few  thousand  dollars. 

"  She  then  came  North,  Clara  being  about  ten  years 
old. 

"  On  the  way  from  Philadelphia  to  New  York,  Mrs. 
Summers  was  sick,  and  was  confined  to  her  state-room 
on  the  boat.  Clara  was  permitted  to  run  about  in 
the  cabin,  promising  she  would  go  but  a  certain  dis- 
tance from  the  door  of  the  state-room.  A  number  of 
the  passengers  took  a  good  deal  of  notice  of  her,  and 


238  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

as  she  was  not  timid,  she  was  quite  willing  to  receive 
their  attentions  and  their  sweetmeats.  One  gentleman 
seemed  to  take  a  special  fancy  to  her  ;  but  finally, 
asking  her  name,  and  being  told  it  was  Clara  Payson 
Summers,  he  let  go  her  hand  abruptly,  and  said  not 
another  word  to  her  while  she  was  on  the  boat.  She 
thought  it  a  strange  incident  at  the  time,  but  soon 
forgot  it.  A  day  or  two  afterwards,  she  happened  to 
recall  it,  and  spoke  of  it  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Sum- 
mers inquired  minutely  about  the  gentleman's  appear- 
ance. 

"  '  He  was  pretty  big,'  Clara  said,  '  and  had  a  scar 
on  his  forehead,  the  shape  of  a  y  upside  down  (A), 
and  a  large  ring  on  his  little  finger,  with  a  white 
stone  in  it;  and  on  the  stone  was  a  lady's  head, 
which  looked,  mamma,  a  great  deal  like  yours,  when 
you  have  your  hair  put  up  in  puffs.  He  told  me  it 
was  a  picture  of  his  mother.' 

"  '  So  it  was,  Clara,'  replied  Mrs.  Summers  ;  '  and 
it  was  a  picture  of  my  mother  too.  That  man,  my 
daughter,  was  your  uncle.  But  he  hates  me,  and  he 
will  never  love  you.' 

"  Clara  says  she  has  never  forgotten  the  sad,  weary 
look  with  which  her  poor  mother  said  this. 

"  You  knew  the  man  also,  Stella ;  and  you  have 
known  him  still  better,  since.  Do  you  suppose  he  re- 
lented a  little,  in  after  years,  and  that  the  image  of 
Clara  would  haunt  him  ?  For  you  know  you  told  me 
about  the  chance  he  gave  her  in  his  will ;  though  he 
evidently  didn't  really  believe  it  would  avail  her  much. 

"  She  never  saw  him  again,  and  I  presume  he  never 
took  any  pains  to  inquire  after  her. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  239 

"  Mrs.  Summers'  object  in  coming  North,  was  to 
give  Clara  a  thorough  education,  and  to  fit  her  for  a 
teacher,  as  she  might  some  time  have  to  rely  wholly  on 
her  own  exertions  for  support.  She  was  placed  at 
school ;  and,  if  my  judgment  is  worth  anything,  she 
must  have  realized  every  expectation.  My  dear  Stella, 
she  is  positively  the  smartest  and  sweetest  girl  I  ever 
met,  your  own  peerless  self  excepted.  I  don't  wonder 
a  bit  that  Captain  Bub  took  a  fancy  to  her. 

"  But  how  I  ramble  all  around  in  the  account  of  her ! 

"  Clara  and  her  mother  lived  at  the  North  eight  years, 
Mrs.  Summers  being  an  invalid  most  of  the  time. 

"  About  the  close  of  the  eighth  year  she  died.  The 
money  was  nearly  all  spent,  but  Clara  had  as  good  an 
education  as  one  of  our  best  seminaries  could  afford  her. 
Six  months  after  her  mother's  death  she 'was  prevailed 
upon  to  go  to  South  Carolina  as  a  teacher  in  a  gentle- 
man's family  there. 

"  Now  comes  the  bitterest  part  of  what  poor,  dear 
Clara  had  to  tell  Captain  Bub. 

"  Colonel  Rawlston,  with  whom  she  went  to  reside, 
was  an  elderly  man,  polite  and  pleasant,  whose  house- 
hold was  composed  of  three  daughters  and  one  son,  the 
latter  a  young  lad  of  ten  years.  Colonel  Rawlston's  wife 
had  been  dead  a  few  months,  and  his  eldest  daughter 
supplied  her  mother's  place  as  mistress  of  the  mansion. 
Her  education  was  presumed  to  be  complete.  Clam's 
duty  was  to  instruct  the  two  younger  daughters  in 
French  and  music,  and  the  lad  in  whatever  he  could 
be  persuaded  to  learn,  except  riding  horses  and  shooting 
birds,  —  two  accomplishments  to  which  his  mind  was 
principally  given.  He  immediately  became  attached, 


240  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

however,  to  the  '  Yankee  lady,'  as  he  termed  Clara,  and 
an  occasional  lesson  was  coaxed  out  of  him.  lie  told 
Clara  that  she  wasn't  at  all  the  woman  he  had  expected 
to  see  when  he  heard  she  was  coming.  He  thought 
all  the  Yankee  women  had  '  peaked  noses,  long,  bony 
arms,  only  a  little  thin  hair  on  their  heads,  and  couldn't 
see  without  specs  ; '  but  that  she  was  '  handsomer  than 
any  of  his  sisters  except  Sallie,  and  a  heap  pleasanter.' 

"  This  Sallie,  the  youngest  daughter,  was  Clara's 
favorite.  She  was,  as  young  Ben  had  said,  the  prettiest 
one  of  the  three,  as  she  was  also  the  most  amiable. 
She  was  quiet  and  sad,  and  very  unobtrusive.  She 
always  dressed  with  remarkable  plainness,  and  shunned, 
instead  of  courting  society.  Her  sisters  generally  treat- 
ed her  with  kindness ;  but  appeared  quite  willing  to 
encourage  her  seclusive  tastes  and  habits. 

"  You'll  hardly  believe  why,  Stella.  Southern  men 
are  strange  beings.  Colonel  Rawlston,  Clara  says,  was 
an  educated,  agreeable  man ;  but  Sallie,  though  his 
daughter,  was  not  his  wife's  child,  but  the  child  of  a 
quadroon  woman,  at  one  time  his  mistress  and  slave, 
who  was  herself  the  daughter  of  a  Southern  senator. 

"  She  didn't  wish  to  live  in  the  relation  imposed  upon 
her  by  Colonel  Rawlston,  and  her  reluctance  Avas  well 
known  to  his  wife,  who,  like  a  Christian  Northern 
woman  as  she  was,  pitied  the  bondmaid  instead  of 
hating  her. 

"  Sallie  was  born,  and  her  mother  dying  within  a 
year,  Mrs.  Rawlston  insisted  on  adopting  the  little  one 
as  her  own  child,  which  she  finally  did.  When  Sallie 
was  fourteen,  she  heard  the  circumstances  of  her  birth 
related  by  an  old  slave,  and  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Rawl- 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  241 

ston,  to  know  if  it  was  possible  they  were  true.  The 
good  woman  told  her  they  were  ;  but  called  Sallie  her 
own  dear  daughter,  soothing  and  comforting  her  in 
every  way  she  could. 

"  The  dear  girl's  heart  was  broken.  From  that  hour 
she  was  melancholy  and  timid,  shunning  nearly  all 
acquaintances.  But  to  Mrs.  Rawlston  she  was  more 
than  a  daughter,  —  she  was  truly  a  willing,  a  devoted 
slave.  During  the  lady's  long  sickness  (she  died  of 
consumption)  Sallie  was  her  constant  attendant  and 
untiring  nurse.  She  saw  her  last  faint  smile,  and 
received  her  last  blessing. 

"  Clara  had  been  but  a  short  time  in  Colonel  Rawl- 
ston's  family,  when  Sallie  informed  her  of  these  things, 
asking  the  young  teacher  if  she  could  love  and  in- 
struct her  as  well  as  if  she  were  really  Mrs.  Rawlston's 
daughter.  Her  sisters,  she  said,  had  obeyed  their 
mother's  dying  injunction  to  be  kind  to  her  ;  but  they 
were  proud,  and,  as  her  history  was  not  a  complete 
secret,  how  could  they  be  fully  reconciled  to  the  rela- 
tion she  bore  to  them  ?  Little  Ben,  she  was  sure,  loved 
her  fondly,  and  now,  while  he  was  a  child,  she  found 
much  happiness  in  his  attachment.  But  her  chief  hope 
was  that  Clara  would  teach  her  all  that  she  herself 
knew,  so  that  in  two  or  three  years  she  could  go 
North,  live  there,  and  take  care  of  herself. 

"  O  Stella !  how  I  wish  she  could  have  done  so, 
and  could  have  come  here  to  me !  But  worse  than 
that  was  to  befall  the  darling. 

"  When  Clara  had  been  with  her  a  year  and  a 
half,  —  the  scholar,  as  Clara  asserts,  being  superior  to 
the  teacher,  —  and  when  they  had  vowed  inseparable 


242  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

friendship  at  the  North,  where  they  intended  going 
together,  Colonel  Rawlston  died.  His  estate  was  found 
nearly  insolvent,  and  the  charge  of  the  family  devolved 
on  Captain  Raspar  Rawlston,  the  eldest  son,  who  had 
lived  many  years  in  New  Orleans,  and  who  seemed 
almost  a  stranger  to  his  sisters  and  his  young  brother. 

"  He  was  a  terrible  man,  —  a  dealer  in  cotton  and 
slaves,  who  was  very  rich,  but  reckless  and  dissipated. 
(I  believe  that  nasty  rum  puts  out  the  last  spark  of 
a  man's  decency.) 

"  What  do  you  think  he  did  ?  He  introduced  the 
two  sisters  into  the  most  aristocratic  society  of  New 
Orleans,  and  claimed  Sallie  as  his  slave,  that  he  had 
bought  in  settling  up  his  father's  estate.  She  was  a 
'  nigger,'  he  said,  '  but  one  that  had  been  a  favorite 
in  the  family.' 

"  Then  he  tried  to  make  her  his  mistress,  having, 
it  was  reported,  three  others  already.  He  kept  her 
away  from  his  sisters  and  little  Ben,  threatened  her, 
and  persecuted  her,  until  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  desperation, 
she  snatched  one  of  his  own  pistols,  and  spattered  her 
brains  in  the  wretch's  face. 

"  A  week  or  two  previously  she  had  insisted  on 
giving  Clara  an  elegant  necklace,  which  she  had  worn, 
and  with  it  a  locket  containing  her  likeness.  Rawlston 
found  it  out.  Not  satisfied  with  what  he  had  done, 
he  soon  attempted  to  repeat  the  experiment  on  Sallie's 
friend,  the  free,  white  Clara ;  and,  as  one  of  his  loving 
bits  of  persuasion,  swore  he  would  have  her  arrested 
as  a  thief,  if  she  made  any  disturbance.  He  actually 
abducted  her  from  his  residence,  where  she  had  re- 
mained with  his  sisters.  But  she  escaped  from  him. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  243 

" '  And  now,  sir,'  said  she  to  Captain  Bub,  as  she 
finished  the  account,  —  which  I,  of  course,  have  spun 
out  so  as  to  give  you  every  particular,  — '  and  now, 
sir,  I  have  found  you,  —  a  gentleman  I  am  sure ;  and 
can  thank  God  I  am  safe.' 

"Perhaps,  my  dear  Stella,  you  can  imagine  how 
Captain  Bub  bore  the  recital.  I  asked  Clara.  She 
said  that  he  was  perfectly  dumb  with  astonishment. 
When  she  came  to  Sallie's  death,  his  eyes  fairly  turned 
round  in  their  sockets,  and  flashed  with  a  green  glow, 
like  a  cat's.  He  didn't  speak  a  word  for  several 
minutes,  and  then  his  voice  was  calm  and  low.  But 
she  says  she  inwardly  prayed  that  Captain  Rawlston 
wouldn't  permit  himself  to  send  for  her  that  day,  and 
almost  as  much  for  his  own  sake  as  for  hers. 

"  She  wasn't  inquired  for  ;  but  the  next  morning  a 
file  of  soldiers  proceeded  to  Captain  Rawlston's  house, 
to  summon  him,  with  his  two  sisters  and  little  Ben, 
to  appear  at  General  Butler's  head-quarters.  It  was  a 
summons  which  didn't  admit  of  hesitation  or  delay  on 
the  part  of  any  one  of  them.  They  were  there  in  a 
short  time,  and  were  questioned  separately. 

"  Captain  Rawlston  was  disposed  to  be  haughty  and 
imposing.  He  said  it  was  quite  likely  he  had  accused 
a  certain  Miss  Summers,  or  one  passing  tfrider  that 
name,  —  some  Yankee  woman  of  no  account,  —  of 
stealing.  It  was  also  quite  likely  he  might  have 
threatened  her  for  so  doing.  He  was  not  aware,  how- 
ever, that  such  a  matter  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
military  government  of  New  Orleans. 

"  *  You   have  much  to  learn,  sir,'  replied  General 


244  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

Butler.  '  Do  you  know  the  whereabouts  of  a  young 
person'  named  Sallie  Rawlston  ?  ' 

"  '  A  certain  girl  Sallie,  whom  I  suppose  you  mean, 
was  my  nigger.  She  was  foolish  enough  to  blow  her 
head  off  some  days  since.  If  you  want  her,  you'll  have 
to  look  for  her  in  h — .' 

"  4  Take  care  of  this  brute  ! '  ordered  General  But- 
ler. '  I  shall  want  him  again.' 

"  The  sisters  were  each  examined.  They  were  lady- 
like, and  both  seemed  surprised,  though  pleased,  to  see 
Clara.  They  hesitated,  evidently  not  knowing  for 
what  they  were  there,  or  what  they  were  expected  to 
say.  They  testified  wonderingly  to  Clara's  attainments, 
integrity,  and  gentleness. 

"  Then  little  Ben  was  brought  in.  He  appeared 
slightly  intimidated  at  first,  probably  having  heard  ter- 
rible stories  about  the  Yankee  soldiers.  But  the  sight 
of  Clara  reassured  him.  He  ran  to  her,  and,  putting 
his  arms  around  her  neck,  kissed  her,  and  wanted  to 
know  if  anybody  had  dared  to  keep  his  dear  Clara 
Summers  there  against  her  will. 

"  No,  she  said,  she  had  come  there  of  her  own 
accord. 

" '  My  son,'  asked  General  Butler,  '  would  your 
dear  Clara  Summers  steal  anything  ?  —  say  this  chain 
and  the  locket.' 

44  The  child  stamped  his  foot,  and  burst  into  tears. 

44 '  Are  you  her  friend,  or  not  ?  '  he  asked. 

"  4  Yes,  my  little  man,  I  am  her  friend,'  the  general 
answered,  with  a  smile. 

44  4  Well,  then,'  cried  Ben,  '  if  you'll  lend  me  those 
pistols  of  yours,  I'll  fight  with  any  man  that  says  Clara 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  245 

Summers  would  steal.  I'm  little,  sir,  but  I  can  shoot 
like  the  devil.  My  sister  Sallie,  my  dearest  pet  sister, 
gave  those  things  to  Miss  Summers,  and  I  saw  her  do 
it.  Will  you  let  me  take  the  pistols  ? ' 

"  '  Perhaps  I  will  let  you  take  the  pistols  some  time, 
my  little  friend ;  but  no  one  here  believes  Miss  Sum- 
mers would  steal,  any  more  than  you  do.  Your  brother 
thought  so ;  but  he  has  made  a  mistake.' 

"  '  My  brother  thought  so  ?  He's  a  fool.  He's  mean, 
he  is.  He  made  Sallie  go  away  from  us ;  and  she's 
dead,  sir.' 

"  Such  was  little  Ben's  testimony ;  and,  as  you  may 
suppose,  it  was  satisfactory. 

"  Ben  was  sent  out,  and  Captain  Rawlston  brought 
back. 

"  He  was  found  guilty  of  using  vile,  slanderous,  and 
threatening  language  to  Clara  Summers ;  of  an  assault 
upon  her,  and  attempted  abduction. 

"  '  I  have  seen  and  questioned  your  sisters  and  little 
brother,'  said  General  Butler.  '  I  respect  them  highly 
They  alone  save  you  from  Fort  Jackson.  You  will 
pay  within  an  hour,  into  the  hands  of  Captain  Clandon 
here,  five  thousand  dollars,  as  a  partial  compensation 
to  Miss  Summers  for  your  insults.' 

"  Such  was  the  substance  of  General  Butler's  de- 
cision. 

"  '  I'll  do  no  such  thing ! '  shouted  Captain  Rawl- 
ston :  *  I'll  be  d first.' 

"  '  Just  as  you  please,  then,'  was  the  general's  grim 
reply.     '  Captain  Clandon,  you  will  please  fill  an  order 
to  have  this  man  hanged  to-morrow  at  sunrise.     Lieu- 
tenant, what  comes  next  ? ' 
21* 


246  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  Rawlston  was  thunderstruck.  Here  was  a  Union 
general  to  be  obeyed  by  the  '  chivalry '  of  New  Or- 
leans. Or,  if  not,  the  chivalry  must  swing  for  it. 

"  '  I'll  pay  the  money,'  growled  the  culprit ;  '  but 
such  usurpation  I  never  heard  of.' 

"  '  Probably  not,  sir.  Captain  Clandon,  he  proposes 
to  pay  the  money.  It  must  be  in  gold.  You  will  ac- 
company him,  take  a  man  or  two  with  you,  and, 
when  the  proper  amount  is  in  your  keeping,  discharge 
the  fellow.  Should  he  attempt  to  escane,  remember 
that  you  are  reputed  to  carry  the  surest  pistol,  next  to 
mine,  in  the  Department  of  the  Gulf.  I  doubt  he  has 
a  soul ;  but  let  that  at  least  be  the  only  part  of  him 
that  shall  elude  you.' 

"  The  money  was  paid.  It  was  given  to  Clara,  and 
as  soon  as  convenient  she  came  North.  Captain  Bub 
insisted  on  having  her  come  right  here.  He  acknowl- 
edges, in  his  letters,  that  he  h'kes  her  very  much,  and 
wants  me  to  see  how  much  I  can  think  of  her.  I  shall 
have  no  trouble  in  being  very  fond  of  her.  She  seems 
sweeter  and  more  pleasant  every  day.  She's  stylish 
too  as  a  princess,  though  as  plain  in  her  tastes  as  your- 
self. 

"  I've  told  her  all  about  you.  Captain  Bub  informed 
her  that  he  knew  her  uncle's  widow,  — '  a  young  wo- 
man,' he  said,  '  to  be  sought  and  respected  as  much  as 
any  lady  in  the  United  States.'  That  was  starting 
Clara  with  a  fair  impression,  —  wasn't  it  ?  —  and  I've 
put  on  all  the  finishing  touches.  I  wish  you  could  meet 
her  right  away :  only  then,  with  you  two  together,  I 
should  have  to  sit  demurely  in  a  corner  and  play  with 
my  thumbs. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  247 

"  But  I  must  stop  writing,  or  you'll  never  get  through 
my  letter  in  the  world.  I'll  let  the  rest  I  had  to  say 
go  till  the  next  time ;  or  still  better,  till  you  come  and 
see  me  again. 

"  Can't  you  do  it  right  away  ?  Yes,  do.  Make 
Clara  and  me  a  visit.  We'll .  have  good  times.  You 
and  Clara  can  talk  up  the  past,  present,  and  future,  in- 
terspersed with  great  men  and  women  ;  and  when  I 
can't  reach  your  sublime  heights,  Charley  Merlow  and 
I  will  perhaps  try  to  entertain  each  other  in  such  poor 
way  as  the  like  can. 

"  Do  come,  Stella,  and  I'll  tell  you  when  Charley 
and  I  are  going  to  be  married.     We've  been  lovers  an 
age.     'Twont  be  possible  to  wait  much  longer. 
\  "  Good-by. 

"  As  ever, 

"YouR  CORA." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

STELLA  dropped  the  letter,  and,  after  sitting  im- 
movable and  wrapped  in  meditation  for  several  min- 
utes, she  hastened  to  her  piano,  and  the  beautiful  song, 
"  We  may  be  happy  yet,"  rang  through  the  house,  with 
every  shade  of  force  and  expression,  from  the  simple 
melody  played  with  the  utmost  thoughtful  tenderness, 
to  the  storm  of  frantic  hilarity  in  which  the  air  itself 
was  almost  covered  up  and  lost  in  the  exuberant  wild- 
ness  of  variation.  Then  she  stepped  to  her  writing- 
table  and  penned  a  note  to  Cora,  stating  that  she  should 
be  at  Ironton  the  next  evening. 

Stella  had  confidence  in  her  judgment  of  persons. 
She  wished  to  see  Clara  Summers  at  once,  and  satisfy 
herself  regarding  the  mind  and  heart  of  one  on  whom  her 
happiness  now  so  much  depended.  For  she  had  deter- 
mined that  if  Clara  should  prove  to  be  all  that  Cora 
had  depicted,  she  should  very  soon  be  placed  in  posses- 
sion of  the  greater  part  of  that  estate  by  which  Stella 
herself  had  been  so  hampered  and  circumscribed. 

Yet  now,  more  than  ever,  she  desired  the  means  of 
her  own  comfortable  independence.  She  remembered, 
of  course,  the  object  for  which  her  father  was  indefati- 
gably  laboring.  He  had  alreadv  done  even  better  than 

(248) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

he  anticipated.  He  Was  making  money  very  rapidly, 
and  she  knew  it  was  for  her.  But  the  most  of  it  was 
constantly  invested.  As  her  father's  operations  had  be- 
come larger,  he  had  grown  to  be  more  and  more  the 
venturesome  old  merchant,  seeming  bent  on  making 
good  all  his  former  losses.  He  was  vigilant  and  shrewd. 
Still,  it  was  possible  that  his  plans  might  again  miscarry. 
Then  Stella  would  need  something  of  her  own,  for  him 
and  for  her.  Earnest  had  been  so  badly  disabled  by 
his  wounds,  and,  still  worse,  by  the  fall  from  his  horse, 
simultaneously  received,  that,  although  he  would  not 
probably  be  maimed,  he  might  never  again  be  able  to 
resume  his  duties  as  a  soldier ;  and  his  surgeons  had 
told  him  that,  for  many  months  at  best,  he  could  not 
completely  recover  his  strength.  Him  above  all  else, 
Stella  could  not  but  include  in  her  desires  and  calcula- 
tions. 

She  had  always  felt  that  in  strict  justice  she  was 
entitled  to  a  part  of  her  husband's  property,  —  sufficient 
to  support  her  comfortably.  If  he  had  awarded  her  so 
much  unconditionally,  leaving  her  mind  and  body 
free,  she  would  have  been  perfectly  satisfied.  Had  she 
known  of  such  a  niece  as  Clara,  she  would  have  begged 
to  have  her  handsomely  endowed,  as  she  would  have 
done  for  all  others  having  natural  claims  on  the  estate. 
She  appreciated  the  value  of  money,  having  no  senti- 
mental abomination  of  it,  but  only  of  vanities,  frivoli- 
ties, and  abuses  so  generally  attaching  themselves  to  it. 
She  knew  that  it  gave,  in  special,  the  best  of  all  the 
world's  good  gifts  to  a  superior  mind,  —  the  leisure  for 
cultivation  and  for  self-satisfying  action.  One  mode 
of  such  action  might  easily  be  to  aid  hundreds  of  fellow- 


250  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

beings,  —  a  matter,  certainly,  which  Stella,  if  any  one, 
could  comprehend. 

Would  it  be  proper,  then,  for  her  to  be  the  recipient 
of  a  small  part  of  this  fortune  which  she  had  about 
decided  to  turn  immediately  over  to  Clara  ?  Such  a 
person  as  Clara  must  be,  would  not  fail  in  generous 
appreciation  of  a  transfer,  which  one  word  spoken  by 
her  uncle's  widow  could  prevent  in  any  case.  No, 
surely  not.  And  she  would  wish  that  Stella  should 
still  derive  some  benefit  from  what  she  had  in  so  large 
a  degree  possessed.  Stella  thought  of  her  old  father, 
and  of  her  stricken  young  lover,  and  said  this  would 
be  right :  she  should  have  some  little  of  Mr.  Torson's 
large  wealth.  Clara  would  surely  make  her  the  offer. 

Stella  was  not  mistaken.  Clara  Summers  was  as 
represented,  —  generous,  enthusiastic,  noble,  and  highly 
intellectual.  Having  been  thrown  upon  her  own  re- 
sources, she  was  self-dependent ;  and,  with  the  most 
feminine  delicacy  of  perception,  she  had  a  masculine 
business  tact.  Stella  perceived  at  once  that  her  new- 
found niece  was  an  impersonation  of  the  most  lovely 
features  of  the  present,  and  a  mirror  of  the  future ; 
that  her  mind  dwelt  in  the  realm  of  ideas  ;  her  soul 
revolved,  one  with  the  stars,  in  the  orbit  of  obedience, 
law,  duty.  There  was  no  mistaking  that  frank,  un- 
reserved manner,  those  eager,  unstudied  words.  What 
she  looked  and  said,  that  she  felt  and  meant.  And 
her  glances  were  reflections  of  the  heavens,  and  her 
sayings  were  not  those  of  the  selfish  or  the  common. 
For  Stella  they  were  easy  to  interpret.  In  three  hours 
she  knew  Clara  well,  and  loved  her  fervently.  In 
three  days,  she  trusted  her  thus :  — 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  251 

Her  arms  were  about  the  daughter  of  Virginia,  and 
they  sat  together. 

"  Clara,  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  take  your 
uncle's  fortune.  You  have  heard  how  it  has  grieved 
me,  perhaps." 

"  Yes ;  and  what  will  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  Take  three  quarters  of  «it,  or  what  more  you  say, 
directly  back,  at  my  hands,  and  then  love  me  as  your 
niece  and  your  friend.  Will  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  No,  my  Clara,  not  wholly.  I  will  love  you  in  any 
way  you  please.  But  I  do  not  feel  as  though  much 
of  that  fortune  belongs  to  me.  Your  uncle  did  not  want 
to  trust  me  with  it.  He  said  so.  He  did  not  know,  of 
course,  that  he  had  a  niece  who  could  use  it  more 
effectually  than  myself;  and  that  too  in  ways  I  might 
like  to  employ  it.  But  that  was  his  own  affair.  He 
ran  the  risk.  I  regard  it  as  his  own  responsibility.  Yet 
I  have  a  theory  in  the  matter.  I  think  that  when  he,  a 
rich  man,  contemplated  leaving  me  as  his  widow,  it  was 
my  right  to  have  a  comfortable  provision  to  use  unfet- 
tered. I  would  have  been  content  with  two  or  three 
times  my  yearly  income,  as  the  entire  amount,  if  he 
had  wished.  He  gave  me,  instead,  the  use  of  the  whole 
estate,  but  bound  me  to  it  like  a  slave.  You  shall  have 
the  money,  —  the  whole  of  it.  I  will  then  take,  if  you 
say  so,  as  a  gift  of  your  love,  twenty-five  or  thirty 
thousand  dollars.  I  think  I  have  a  rightful  claim  to  so 
much." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  scrupulous  soul,"  exclaimed  Clara, 
with  a  smile  and  a  tighter  clasp  of  the  arms.  "  But 
why,  in  the  name  of  sense  and  sensibility,  are  you  not 


252  LOVERS  AND   THINKERS. 

as  much  entitled  to  ten  times  the  amount  you  specify- 
as  to  that  little  end  of  the  fortune  ?  You  were  his  wife. 
I  was  only  his  niece.  My  parents  displeased  him.  You 
lived  with  him,  faithful  and  trusted  ;  and  all  the  more 
to  be  treated  handsomely,  as  you  did  so  without  loving 
him.  It  is  evident  that  he  only  gave  me  a  chance  in 
the  will  because  he  knew  nothing  about  me ;  and  he 
probably  doubted  my  ever  reaping  any  benefit  from  it. 
I  shall  employ  the  money  as  much  against  his  bygone 
wishes  as  you  would  do.  I  shall  take  that  course,  de- 
void the  smallest  twinge  of  conscience.  I  am  clear  on 
the  subject.  To  me,  it  is  plainly  my  duty  to  disregard 
the  inclinations  of  my  sometime  uncle.  It  is  only  a 
trifle  of  indirection  to  put  the  whole  estate  on  me.  No, 
positively,  my  good  aunty,  my  dear  Stella,  your  terms 
are  '  out  of  the  question,'  as  the  merchants  say.  You 
are  altogether  '  too  hard  on  me.'  But  I  am  sure  it  is 

O 

impossible  for  us  to  quarrel  seriously  about  money.  We 
already  know  each  other  too  well  for  that.  Let  me  tell 
you,  however,  what  you  may  do.  You  may  transfer 
every  cent  to  me  as  soon  as  you  please.  Then,  what 
I  can  induce  you  and  youi's  to  accept,  by  the  power  of 
tongue  and  quill,  I  suppose  will  be  my  affair." 

She  kissed  Stella  as  she  finished  speaking.  The  ca- 
ress was  returned,  and  Stella  said  that  she  must  content 
herself,  she  supposed,  with  being  persuaded. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

ON  the  7th  of  July,  the  "  Ironton  Evening  Chronicle" 
announced  that  Captain  Earnest  Acton  had  arrived 
in  town,  still  suffering  severely  from  his  wounds  received 
at  the  battle  of  Fair  Oaks. 

"  We  are,  sorry  to  say,"  continued  the  article,  "  that 
it  is  feared  this  gallant  officer  will  not  be  able  to  resume 
his  place  in  the  field.  It  was  supposed  at  first,  as  our 
readers  will  remember,  that  his  wounds  were  fatal.  In 
his  almost  superhuman  effort  to  hold  our  heroic  boys 
up  to  their  task,  after  it  seemed  a  hopeless  one,  Captain 
Acton's  person  was  necessarily  exposed  with  utter  in- 
difference. The  result  is  fresh  in  all  minds. 

"  He  has  partly  recovered  from  his  bullet-wounds, 
and  it  is  thought  he  will  fully  recover  from  them.  But 
in  falling  from  his  horse,  he  received  injuries  which  will 
probably  affect  his  spine,  rendering  him  weak  for  many 
months,  if  not  permanently  preventing  him  from  again 
serving  his  country  in  battle. 

"  We  sincerely  regret  to  learn  the  fact.  He  was 
soon  to  have  held  a  higher  position  in  the  army,  and 
would  have  filled  it  with  signal  ability. 

"  It  is  a  loss  which  the  service  can  ill  afford,  to  be 
deprived  of  those  who,  in  addition  to  bravery  and 

22  (253) 


254  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

address,  have  a  thorough  understanding  of  the  present 
momentous  contest  in  all  its  bearings,  and  who  feel 
that  no  sacrifice  can  be  too  great,  in  securing  for  a  con- 
tinent impartial  freedom  and  enduring  justice.  Captain 
Acton  was  one  of  these.  As  he  fought  at  Fair  Oaks 
against  all  odds,  so  we  hope,  against  all  opinions,  that 
he  will  yet  live  to  fight  again." 

The  day  after  the  above  mention  of  Earnest's  re- 
turn home,  he  was  not  a  little  surprised  by  the  follow- 
ing letter. 

"AT  CORA  CLANDOX'S. 
"  DEAR  SIR  :  — 

"  I  do  not  know  that  you  have  yet  heard  of  any 
such  person  as  myself.  Permit  me,  then,  to  introduce 
you  to  Miss  Clara  Summers,  the  niece  of  the  late  J.  Z. 
Torson,  Esq.,  and,  much  better,  the  friend,  as  well  as 
niece,  of  his  lovely  and  accomplished  widow. 

"  During  the  last  few  days  I  have  been  placed  in 
possession  of  my  deceased  uncle's  entire  property.  While 
living,  that  gentleman  did  not  see  fit  to  own  me  as  his 
relative  ;  and  at  his  death,  did  not  know,  I  suppose,  — 
at  least  was  not  at  all  certain,  —  that  I  was  in  existence. 
Still,  he  saw  fit  to  make  in  his  will  a  provision  through 
which  my  dear  Aunt  Stella  has  turned  over  to  me  his 
fortune.  On  so  doing,  she  expressed  herself  willing  to 
take  back,  as  a  gift  from  me,  the  very  modest,  or  rather, 
under  the  circumstances,  the  very  pitiful  allowance  of 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  We  could  not  agree 
upon  that  sum.  She  has,  it  seems  to  me,  by  every 
principle  of  equity,  a  much  better  right  to  three  quar- 
ters of  the  whole  estate,  than  L  have  to  keep  for  my- 
self the  remaining  quarter. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  255 

"  However,  she  cannot  be  brought  to  my  terms. 
She  says  that  she  became  my  uncle's  wife  against  her 
judgment,  and  very  reluctantly.  She  took  no  thought 
of  his  money ;  and,  as  he  did  not  want  her  to  have  it, 
she  thinks  that,  out  of  self-respect,  she  ought  to  take  no 
more  than  will  support  her  comfortably  and  pleasantly. 
I  cannot  look  at  the  matter  in  any  such  light.  I  have 
therefore  insisted  on  putting  into  her  hands  twice  the 
sum  she  proposed  (fifty  thousand  dollars),  and,  by  my 
utmost  powers  of  persuasion,  have  at  last  prevailed 
upon  her  to  retain  that  amount. 

"  Now  I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you.  It  is,  that  you 
will  receive  the  like  sum,  and  make  what  disposition  of 
it  you  choose.  Then  I  shall  beg  of  Stella's  father  that 
he  will  do  the  same. 

"  My  uncle  has,  living,  two  or  three  distant  relatives, 
—  poor  and  common,  but  worthy  people,  —  whom  he 
did  not  recognize  in  any  way,  as  I  can  learn,  but  who 
have,  I  think,  some  natural  claim  to  a  small  part  of  his 
property.  I  intend  they  shall  have  moderate  bequests 
at  once,  just  as  though  they  had  been  remembered  in 
the  will. 

"  There  will  be  left,  as  I  compute,  something  over  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  my  share.  If 
you  and  her  father  should  agree  to  my  proposals,  my 
dear  aunt,  my  sweet  friend  Stella,  will  have,  directly 
and  indirectly,  about  that  amount  also,  —  the  estate 
being  divided  not  far  from  equally  between  us. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  my  self-respect  is  at  stake, 
as  well  as  hers.  She  should  have  had  the  unfettered 
use  of  the  estate.  It  was  a  gross  insult  and  injustice  to 
so  noble  a  woman  to  deprive  her  of  it.  I,  the  distant, 


256  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

unknown  niece,  might  have  had,  by  right,  a  small  pro- 
vision, —  as  much,  or  rather  more,  than  Stella  first  pro- 
posed to  accept  from  me.  And  then  I  should  have 
been  much  richer  than  I  ever  expected  to  be.  Yet, 
simply  because  I  can  do  so,  I  have  now  figured  for  my- 
self one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  to  half  of 
which,  at  least,  Stella  has  a  better  right  than  I.  Is  it 
fair  to  insist  on  my  being  still  more  avaricious  ? 

"  Furthermore,  if  my  uncle  were  now  alive,  holding 
his  former  views,  he  would  be  as  much  averse  to  seeing 
me  in  possession  of  his  riches,  as  any  other  person 
whatever.  For  the  most  of  his  opinions  I  have  no  re- 
spect, and  for  his  prejudices  I  don't  care  a  fig.  I  shall 
employ  the  bulk  of  his  wealth  directly  against  his  selfish 
and  obsolescent  notions.  The  system  of  slavery,  for 
instance,  which  he  inclined  to  propitiate,  if  not  to  foster, 
I  hate  heartily,  knowing  it  thoroughly.  His  property 
shall  aid  in  supplying  materials  for  its  destruction.  My 
religion,  too,  is  practical,  —  a  thing  to  be  used  for  the 
welfare  of  God's  children  here  as  well  as  hereafter. 
What  my  uncle  termed  New  England  '  infidelity,'  — 
that  intense  purification  of  ritualism,  and  a  purification 
whose  exponents  have  been  some  of  the  greatest  re- 
ligious souls  living  or  dead,  —  I  do  not  fear  as  he  did, 
knowing  more  about  it,  probably,  than  he  had  the  in- 
ducement to  comprehend.  I  would  lend  it  my  dollars 
much  more  readily  than  for  theological  propagation  at 
Timbuctoo.  For  all  these  considerations,  my  mediocre 
uncle's  superior  and  magnanimous  wife  might  just  as 
well  have  his  fortune  as  might  his  wilful  and  headstrong 
niece. 

"  But  I  have  another  reason  for  mentioning  my  own 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  257 

tendencies.  Sensitive  people  recoil  from  gifts ;  and  if 
you  are  not  persuaded  that  you  should  accept  my  offer  as 
a  right  due  Stella,  I  want  to  prevail  on  you  to  take  it  as 
a  present  due  yourself.  You  would  not  consent  to  an 
aimless  donation ;  probably  not  to  one  of  mere  good- 
feeling : —  you  must  understand  the  giver;  the  giver 
must  understand  you.  Now,  if  I  can  give  from  suffi- 
ciently exalted  grounds,  perhaps  you  will  grant  me  the 
pleasure  of  acceptance.  I  have  listened  with  deep  in- 
terest to  much  I  have  heard  very  discriminating  friends 
say  regarding  you  ;  I  am  acquainted  with  many  of  your 
actions,  as  well  as  your  thoughts.  You  have  been  oc- 
cupied with  the  gravest  questions  and  interests  which 
affect  the  human  kind.  I  can  easily  perceive  —  it  was 
never  plainer  than  now  —  what  vast  influence  for  good, 
a  generous  mind,  powerful,  cultivated,  and  independent, 
can  exert  in  the  world.  You  would  commend  me,  if  I 
saw  fit  to  tender  a  considerable  present  to  a  beneficent 
institution.  Yet  I  know  several  Americans,  each  one 
of  whom  is  a  greater  benefit  to  the  country  than  any 
hundred  such  institutions  that  could  be  picked  out. 
Pardon  me  for  offering  you  the  sincere  compliment  of 
thinking  that  you  have  begun  life  in  a  way  to  become 
such  a  man. 

"  Believing  so,  I  shall  be  very  grateful,  I  assure  you, 
if  permitted  a  contribution  to  the  more  ordinary  mate- 
rials of  your  advancement  and  usefulness.  What  I 
shall  expect  in  return,  yet  have  no  need  to  ask,  is,  that 
the  zeal  of  the  scholar  for  the  true  and  the  right  will 
equal  that  of  the  former  soldier,  who  now,  it  is  said, 
can  be  a  soldier  no  more. 

"  Hoping  that  I  may  have,  at  the  proper  time,  the 

22* 


258  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

honor  of  being  your  niece,  I  content  myself  now  with 
being 

"  Your  friend, 

"  CLARA  SUMMERS. 
"  To  Capt.  EARNEST  ACTON." 

Clara's  letter  was  enclosed  to  Stella,  and  sent  to  Bos- 
ton, whither  the  two  had  gone  some  days  before,  Clara 
having  returned  alone.  Mr.  Gebard,  a  conscientious 
and  able  young  lawyer,  had  accompanied  them  to  Bos- 
ton. Their  purpose  had  been  to  enter  at  once  upon 
the  transaction  which  Clara's  letter  now  referred  to  as 
complete. 

Stella  had  acknowledged  her  infraction  of  the  will, 
and  nothing  could  be  done  but  to  execute  the  provis- 
ion in  favor  of  Clara  Summers.  So  Clara  became  an 
heiress. 

The  parties  representing  the  pro-slavery  interest  in 
the  will  had  materially  changed  their  views  since  the 
inauguration  of  rebellion,  and  said  that  they  should 
now  be  heartily  ashamed  to  lend  their  efforts  in  even 
the  remotest  manner  to  oppose  the  cause  of  freedom. 
They  were  democrats  of  the  Butler  persuasion. 

The  theological  interest  was  at  first  disposed  to  stand 
out,  especially  as  it  had  just  entertained  hopes  of  coming 
into  its  share  of  the  property,  through  Snorton  Ruffat, 

the  peculating  quartermaster  of  F ,  who,  after  being 

dismissed  the  service  of  his  much-abused  country,  had 
come  to  Boston,  and,  seeing  Stella  in  the  street,  had 
made  inquiries  by  which  he  learned  something  of  her 
history,  and  obtained  a  clew  to  the  tenor  of  the  will. 
He  was  immediately  eager  for  retaliation,  offering  to 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  259 

prove  that  Stella  had  no  further  claim  upon  the  Torson 
estate.  The  regenerated  hunkers  were  cool  to  him ; 
the  agents  of  theology  hailed  his  statement  with  glad- 
ness. But  at  this  juncture  Clara  Summers  stepped  in, 
Mr.  Gebard's  keen  eyes,  twinkled  humorously,  and  the 
necessary  documents  were  in  his  pocket.  Distinguished 
counsel  on  both  sides  declared  the  case  to  be  clear,  all 
argument  to  be  futile.  Discomfited  theology  there- 
fore concluded  to  be  peaceable,  — -  its  invariable  course 
in  all  history,  when  it  has  been  able  to  take  no  other. 
The  business  settled,  as  far  as  Clara's  presence  was 
necessary,  she  returned  to  Ironton,  Stella  promising  to 
follow  her  soon,  and  to  complete  the  visit,  never  too 
Ions;,  which  she  had  intended  for  Cora. 

O ' 

"  And  where  we  can  be  conveniently  near  our  dear 
friend  Captain  Acton,  my  delectable  auntie,"  suggested 
the  smiling  Clara. 

But,  as  we  have  seen,  the  "  delectable  auntie  "  had 
not  yet  come. 

So  Clara's  letter  was  sent  to  her.  Earnest  would 
not  conclude  anything  in  her  behalf  without  consulting 
her,  and  he  asked  her  judgment  concerning  his  own 
acceptance  of  so  large  a  gift,  provided  she  should  not 
wish  him  to  take  it,  having  her  welfare  in  view. 

Stella  replied :  "  Do  as  you  like,  my  dear  Earnest  — 
as  you  think  right  and  best.  I  trust  your  judgment 
more  than  my  own.  Perhaps  my  feelings  were  morbid 
regarding  my  apportionment.  But  I  never  craved  a 
very  large  fortune,  and  I  came  almost  to  hate  Mr. 
Torson's  money. 

"  Now  it  is  Clara's.  She  certainly  has  a  right  to  dis- 
pose of  it  as  she  chooses. 


260  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

"  One  thing  I  will  say  of  her.  She  is  regal  in  mind 
and  heart.  She  is  not  to  be  judged  by  others.  She 
can  be  injured  neither  by  granting  nor  by  submitting 
to  favors. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  love,  a  bit  .of  pleasantry.  Clara  is 
the  only  person  I  have  met,  whom  I  would  do  the 
honor  to  be  jealous  of,  if  you  knew  how  to  be  ca- 
pricious. She  is  a  pearl  of  great  price." 

Earnest  soon  had  an  interview  with  Clara,  and,  after 
conversing  with  her  an  hour  or  two,  he  concluded  to 
take  from  her  fifty  thousand  dollars,  which  she  be- 
stowed with  as  simple  satisfaction  as  {bat  with  which 
a  generous  child  shares  an  orange  with  a  pet  companion. 

Yet  this  superb  young  woman  had,  on  one  or  two  oc- 
casions, been  in  actual  need  of  a  few  dollars.  She  had 
labored  for  her  daily  bread,  and  was  already  meditating 
upon  the  manner  of  investing  her  remaining  capital,  so 
as  to  make  it  pay  every  fair  and  honest  cent.  She 
was  prudent,  and  of  Yankee  stock.  Only  she  knew  the 
meaning  of  a  sacred  trust. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

OTELLA  soon  fulfilled  her  promise,  coming  back  to 
N-'  Ironton  to  complete  a  visit  of  uncertain  duration. 

Clara  remained  there  for  the  present,  and  to  Cora's 
inexpressible,  yet  constantly  declared  satisfaction,  the 
three  friends  were  together  under  one  roof,  —  all  happy 
in  the  commodious  mansion  of  Richard  Clandon. 

Cora  wrote  to  her  brother,  "  Captain  Bub,"  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  young  teacher's  sudden  transmuta- 
tion to  a  lady  of  fortune ;  and  deputed  him,  in  Clara's 
name,  to  hunt  up  little  Ben,  and  assure  him  that  his 
friend  Clara  Summers  remembered  him  with  much 
affection,  and  would  hold  for  him  at  the  North  five 
thousand  dollars,  —  the  money  his  brother  had  been 
obliged  to  pay  her,  —  which  the  boy  should  have,  with 
interest,  whenever  he  should  need  it. 

"  Tell  him,  too,  that  if  he  is  ever  in  trouble,  he  must 
come  to  Clara  ;  and  she  will  try  to  be  a  sister,  almost 
as  good  to  him  as  his  poor  Sallie. 

J'  And  now,  sir,"  she  continued,  "  you  may  as  well 
be  assured  that  Miss  Summers  will  be,  in  this  place,  a 
person  of  innumerable  attractions,  acknowledged  by 
several  more  than  innumerable  adorers.  So  look  sharp, 
absent  soldier.  If  you  don't  want  her  for  my  sister- 

(261) 


262  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

in-law,  what  in  the  world  shall  I  do  with  a  brother  of 
such  sorry  taste  ?  If  you  do,  —  well,  that's  all :  but 
time  is  precious  where  rubies  are  scarce.  Get  a  fur- 
lough, my  tall  brother  ;  get  a  furlough,  and  come  to 
pay  us  your  respects." 

Captain  Clandon  replied  that  he  should  do  so  as  soon 
as  he  could  without  personal  discredit  or  injury  to  the 
service. 

"  In  respect  to  Miss  Summers,"  he  wrote,  '^1  shall 
defer,  in  my  taste,  to  no  one,  not  even  to  the  crazy 
and  bantering  Sissy  Cora  herself.  When  I  think  of 
Miss  Summers,  I  almost  wish,  momentarily,  that  I  were 
one  of  the  '  peace  party  '  with  you  at-  home.  Yet  I 
suspect  a  man  must  be  worthy  of  his  country  to  win 
her. 

"  Seriously,  dear  Cora,  the  lady  has  left  a  deep  im- 
pression on  me.  I  think  of  her  very  often.  If  the 
beaux  multiply  to  my  harm,  say  to  her  that  when  the 
celestials  are  raffled  for,  I  must  positively  have  one 
chance  in  the  chief  prize.  Then  I  will  do  my  best,  and 
abide  my  luck  quietly,  like  a  decent,  practical  fellow." 

Cora  was  certainly  proud  of  the  fine,  soldierly  Cap- 
tain Lawrence  Ide  Clandon,  whose  lofty  figure  and 
almost  imperious  bearing  appeared  in  ridiculous  con- 
trast with  her  diminutive  appellation  of  "  Captain 
Bub."  How  could  she  help  reading  to  Clara  a  brief 
extract  from  his  letter  ! 

"  What  shall  I  tell  him  ?  "  she  asked.  , 

Clara  smiled  and  blushed. 

"  Tell  him  the  celestial  raffle  shall  not  come  off  while 
he  is  deprived  of  a  chance." 

Here  were  indications  of  more  lovers  for  the  future. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  263 

But  Earnest  and  Stella,  Charley  Merlow  and  Cora, 
were  soon  to  be  established  in  another  category.  They 
were  to  move  out  of  the  world  of  "  young  people," 
all  migrating  together.  The  day  was  set.  It  was  to  be 
early  in  September. 

By  close  care  and  constant  attention  to  his  ailments, 
Earnest  had  regained  his  health  much  more  rapidly  than 
was  at  first  deemed  possible.  He  was  still  rather 
weak,  —  so  was  easily  fatigued ;  but  otherwise  he  ap- 
peared nearly  as  well  as  ever. 

The  marriage  ceremony  was  very  simple,  —  the  im- 
mediate relatives  and  a  few  warmly  attached  friends 
being  present  at  Mr.  Clandon's,  where  the  two  young 
couples  were  joined  in  wedlock  till  death  should  sever 
the  solemn  tie.  Weighty  forms  and  profuse  display 
were  needless,  that  to  them  the  hour  and  the  lesson 
should  be  impressive.  They  had  read  the  meaning  of 
that  blessed  sacrament,  in  life  and  in  their  own  souls. 
Thoughtfully  yet  gladly  and  trustingly  it  was  to  be  re- 
ceived ;  sacredly  it  was  to  be  regarded  and  preserved. 
Years  ago,  in  his  boyhood,  Earnest  in  particular  had 
questioned  the  rite,  as  he  had  done  with  many  an- 
other,—  demanding  its  central  import  to  him,  to  the 
world,  to  God.  He  had  scrutinized  its  historical  phases ; 
he  had  worked  upon  the  problem  of  its  moral  aims. 

Like  all  other  of  the  world's  chief  institutions,  he 
had  found  it  established,  first  in  human  nature,  then  in 
customs  and  laws. 

In  the  earliest  ages,  when  the  mind  of  childhood, 
with  its  restless  and  wilful  strivings,  was  the  motor 
and  guide  of  mature  men — their  wishes  having  almost 
no  limitation  save  the  boundaries  of  their  mere  strength 


264  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

to  do,  —  intellectual,  reflective  morality  not  yet  evolved, 
—  marriage  was,  as  Earnest  had  found,  the  conjunc- 
tion of  tyrant  and  his  toy  or  slave.  The  equality 
of  woman's  nature  with  man's  was  not  perceived  ;  for 
only  the  roughest  properties  of  man's  nature  were  held 
in  esteem.  Virtue  was  physical  courage  and  force. 
Beauty  was  a  sweet  bauble,  to  occupy  one's  leisure ; 
to  be  tossed  gside  or  changed  at  one's  pleasure.  But 
the  race  grew  out  of  childhood.  In  Greece,  it 
became  a  sprightly,  enthusiastic,  sensitive  youth. 
Man's  attachment  to  woman  was  then  purer.  Spiritual 
values  and  refinements  could  be  considered.  The  Gre- 
cian could  love  ;  and  mere  passion  was  no  longer  para- 
mount. Civilization  thus  began  the  disuse  of  polygamy. 
Out  of  civilization  at  last  came  a  soul  loving  enough  to 
bestow  Christianity  upon  the  nations  ;  and  this  was  to 
complete  the  amelioration. 

Earnest  had  but  to  look  into  his  own  experience  for 
a  reflex  of  the  entire  transition,  except  that  his  senti- 
ments, through  these  changes,  had  not,  as  in  history, 
been  unfolded  into  multifarious  actions. 

Marriage,  then,  was  to  him,  as  its  forms  declared,  an 
indissoluble  bond,  holding  him  to  the  pure,  radiant 
woman  there  at  his  side,  until  her  mild,  happy  eyes 
could  look  no  more  into  his,  or  until  his  own  should  lie 
cold,  rayless,  and  closed.  "  Love,  cherish,  and  pro- 
tect;"  —  this  he  would  do,  and  would  impart  to  her 
what  wisdom  and  worth  might  be  given  him,  that  last- 
ing benefit  might  flow  upon  her ;  and  he  would  receive 
the  promptings  of  her  tenderness,  her  perceptive  good- 
ness and  truth,  that  enduring  profit  should  flow  to 
him.  "Love,  honor,  and  obey;"  —  this  she  would 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  265 

do ;  for  to  both  there  should  be  no  standard  of  will  or 
whim.  The  true,  the  right,  which  are  that  heaven 
the  soul  exists  to  seek,  should  claim  the  allegiance 
of  each,  and  to  this  she  and  he  would  gladly  bow. 

Thankful  for  every  good  thought,  for  every  noble 
deed  of  his  life ;  grateful  to  Heaven  for  every  crystal 
of  purity  garnered,  and  for  every  temptation  repelled  ; 
glad  that  he  was  in  some  sort  worthy,  yet  very  humble 
that  his  worth  was  less  than  he  or  the  angels  might 
wish,  —  Earnest  took  the  hand  of  her  who  was  the 
chosen  of  his  heart.  Charley  Merlow  and  Cora  stood 
at  their  side.  The  few  questions  were  asked,  the 
few  responses  were  given,  and  the  friends  were  hus- 
bands and  wives. 

23 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

A  MERICAN  events  of  the  year  succeeding  Earnest's 
-£*-  marriage  were  to  be  momentous  in  their  effect 
upon  the  ages,  and  prominent  in  the  history  of  man. 
But  amidst  them  Earnest  was  to  be  an  observer,  not 
what  is  commonly  considered  a  doer.  Cheerful  and 
happy,  capable  of  regular  and  continuous  mental 
exertion,  it  was  still  much  as  the  physicians  had  pre- 
dicted :  —  he  did  not  recover  his  full  bodily  vigor  and 
endurance.  Among  half-invalid  civilians  he  passed  as 
sound.  Old  Doctor  Wisely,  and  many  another  friend, 
bade  him  look  well  to  his  health  if  he  wished  to  stay 
long  with  them. 

His  sword  had  been  thrown  aside.  Now,  however,  he 
grasped  the  pen.  He  wielded  it  often,  sometimes  as- 
sured that  error  was  weaker  for  the  stroke,  —  that 
man  was  stronger  in  faith,  higher  in  freedom. 

Thus  he  gave  the  soul's  mite  of  charity,  as  best  he 
could,  to  the  needy,  while  his  open  hand  never  with- 
held the  more  material  offering  with  which  God's  rich 
are  favored,  not  vulgarly,  for  themselves  alone. 

But,  toward  the  close  of  the  year  1863,  Earnest  de- 
termined upon  visiting  New  Orleans.  His  chief  motive 
was  to  see  for  himself  the  condition  of  the  many  poor 

(266) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  267 

beings,  suddenly  emerged  from  slavery  to  freedom,  who 
were  in  that  vicinity  and  at  Port  Royal,  and  to  look 
into,  or  at  least  glance  at,  the  noble  efforts  which  had 
been  made  in  their  behalf  by  humane  men  and  women 
of  the  North.  He  thought  that  perhaps  he  too  might 
lend  his  hand,  his  brain,  or,  if  nothing  more,  his  purse, 
to  the  cause. 

Not  men  now  —  not  any  one  class  of  men,  but 
man  —  all  men,  he  regarded  as  his  kin.  There  were 
threads  of  relation,  he  observed,  however  subtile, 
between  him  and  the  highest  of  these,  —  between  him 
and  the  lowest  also.  He  ignored  none.  But  he 
perceived  that  of  all  classes  in  the  land,  the  slaves  and 
the  freedmen  most  required,  and  best  deserved,  the 
philanthropic  attentions  of  the  intellectual,  the  wealthy, 
and  the  benignant.  They  were  the  most  helpless,  and 
had  been  brought  to  their  impoverishment  by  the  self- 
ishness and  sin  of  American  citizens.  It  was  for 
American  citizens,  then,  to  try,  even  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  to  afford  them  what  incomplete  reparation  might 
be  possible. 

And  above  all,  Earnest  saw  plainly  that  until  the 
Negro  should  be  recognized  as  a  man,  with  all  the 
natural  rights  and  privileges  of  any  and  eveiy  man,  the 
White  would  himself  be  petty,  tyrannical,  lazy  and  snob- 
bish, —  far  enough  from  the  likeness  of  God,  in  which 
he  supposed  himself  created,  —  a  sorry  child,  indeed, 
needing  costly  and  severe  instruction,  some  portion  of 
which  he  was  already  receiving,  from  the  sabre,  the 
rifle,  the  cannon.  Whatever  then  might  contribute  to 
the  manhood  of  the  Black,  would  contribute  in  quite 
as  large  degree  to  the  manhood  of  the  White ;  and 


268  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

Earnest  had  traversed  the  centuries  and  the  soul  too 
carefully  to  be  unaware  that  the  White's  manhood  re- 
quired enlargement  much  more  than  his  pocket,  how- 
ever astonishing  the  fact  might  appear  to  him. 

The  riots  of  the  preceding  summer,  induced  by 
those  not  without  a  certain  kind  of  intelligence,  though 
consummated  by  the  most  ignorant  of  the  vile,  showed 
that  in  both  the  hyena  and  the  jackal  were  to  be 
tamed  and  overgrown,  and  that  thousands  of  Ameri- 
cans were  like  the  diseased  and  bloated  German  in 
the  play,  who  was  cured  of  his  malady  by  having  a 
large  number  of  fools  cut  out  of  him.  Education, 
employment,  encouragement  to  martial  valor,  —  any- 
thing that  would  aid  the  Black  to  assert  his  equal  hu- 
manity, —  would  cut  one  fool  of  prejudice  or  distrust 
out  of  the  White ;  and  for  the  good  of  all,  such  sur- 
gery was  unmistakably  the  achievement  of  the  age.  - 

It  is  prpbable,  too,  that  those  truculent  demonstra- 
tions of  July  made  Earnest,  as  many  others,  actually 
prefer,  in  most  respects,  the  loyal,  unoffending  Negro, 
to  the  Celtic  or  Saxon  savage,  who  ground  him  into 
bloody  dust.  Even  the  pictorial  newspapers  repre- 
sented the  rioter  as  uglier  in  face,  uglier  in  form,  worse 
smelling,  and  in  every  way  lower  and  more  beastly, 
than  Sambo  was  ever  depicted  in  the  palmiest  days  of 
Pierce  or  Buchanan.  The  persecutor  or  persecuted  — 
which  would  the  sane,  not  to  say  the  cultivated,  deem 
superior  ? 

Indignation  is  sometimes  a  powerful  auxiliary  to  be- 
nevolence. Possibly  it  was  a  spur  to  Earnest's  action, 
when  he  decided  to  proceed  South,  and  throw  all  the 
energy  and  means  he  could  spare  into  a  single  channel. 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  2G9 

For  his  health  was  not  yet  secure,  and  although  Doctor 
Wisely  said  that  the  mere  change  would  not  be  detri- 
mental, he  declared  that  his  friend  would  be  sure  to 
excite  and  overwork  himself,  "  into  the  box,  into  the 
box!" 

But  go  the  young  man  would,  and  his  wife,  with 
their  friend  Clara  Summers,  accompanied  him. 

Clara  enjoyed  participating  in  all  good  works.  Per- 
haps, also,  she  enjoyed  the  prospect  of  meeting  Colonel 
Lawrence  Ide  Clandon  ;  —  for  "  Captain  Bub  "  now 
wore  that  title,  with  the  corresponding  insignia  on  coat 
and  cap ;  and  he  was  still  stationed  at  New  Orleans, 
where  the  party  were  to  proceed  at  first,  stopping  at 
Port  Royal  on  their  return.  Three  months  after  Cora 
had  advised  her  brother  to  "  get  a  furlough ,"  he  had 
procured  it,  and  had  spent  a  few  weeks  at  home.  It 
was  not  long  before  numerous  young  ladies  began  to 
whisper  to  each  other,  that  Captain  Clandon  and  Clara 
Summers  were  "  engaged."  It  was  probably  true  in 
this  instance,  though  it  is  not  infallibly  so  in  all  in- 
stances, as  we  know,  Avhen  young  ladies  whisper  the 
like. 

But  Earnest's  plans  were  to  be  suddenly  frustrated. 
The  day  after  his  arrival  in  New  Orleans,  while  in  the 
street  with  Stella  and  Cora,  proceeding  toward  Colonel 
Clandon's  quarters,  they  were  met  by  a  person  in  uni- 
form, who  appeared  slightly  intoxicated,  and  whom 
Stella  immediately  recognized  as  her  old  enemy,  Ruffat, 
the  discharged  quartermaster.  He  also  recognized 
her  as  well  as  Earnest,  and  was  unable  to  contain  his 
rage. 

"  Ah !    you  damned  Miss  Virtuous  !  "  he  exclaimed 

23* 


270  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

•with  a  sneer,  as  he  brushed  past,  "  so  you've  got  your 
brother  cured,  —  have  you  ?  " 

Earnest's  first  impulse  was  to  knock  him  down.  But 
as  his  face  flushed,  and  his  arm  rose,  Stella  besought 
him  to  take  no  notice  of  an  affront  from  a  drunken 
man  ;  or,  at  any  rate,  to  do  nothing  more  than  report  it 
to  Colonel  Clandon. 

They  passed  on,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were  in  their 
friend's  apartments.  On  mentioning  the  insult  to  him, 
and  the  causes  of  it,  his  eye  glittered  and  his  lips  whi- 
tened ;  but  in  a  tone  even  lower  and  calmer  than  usual, 
he  inquired  the  man's  name.  Stella  gave  it,  and  Ear- 
nest said  he  wore  a  lieutenant's  cap. 

"  He  could  not  have  entered  the  service  again  under 
his  old  name,  however,"  said  Colonel  Clandon.  "  He 
has  changed  it.  Describe  him,  if  you  please." 

To  describe  him  was  easy  :  — 

*'  A  coarse,  gross  person,  with  a  repulsive  scar  from 
the  left  cheek-bone  down  toward  the  mouth." 

"  I  know  him,"  said  the  colonel ;  and,  stepping  out  of 
the  room,  he  ordered  that  a  guard  be  detailed  to  arrest 
Lieutenant  Murkin,  acting  in  the  commissary  depart- 
ment, and  that  the  prisoner  be  brought  forthwith  to 
him. 

It  appears  that  the  man  was  connected  with  the  bri- 
gade of  which  Colonel  Clandon  was  then  acting  as 
commander. 

About  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  his  order  was 
obeyed.  Meanwhile  he  conversed  cordially  with  Ear- 
nest and  Stella,  and  with  a  tone  of  unmistakable  pride 
and  tenderness,  as  he  spoke  to  Clara  Summers. 

Lieutenant  Murkin  was  brought  in,  and  the  guard 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  271 

was  ordered  to  leave  the  apartment,  but  to  remain  just 
outside  the  door,  in  the  street.  The  culprit  seemed  to 
read  his  fete  at  a  glance,  and  to  feel  that  humiliation 
and  renewed  dismissal  from  the  army  would  be  meted 
out  to  him,  if  nothing  worse.  He  glared  on  the  party 
with  maudlin  yet  desperate  fury,  and,  before  a  single 
question  was  put  to  him,  he  suddenly  drew  a  pistol  and 
aimed  it  at  Stella.  Earnest  as  suddenly  stepped  in 
front  of  her.  The  pistol  was  discharged,  and  the  ball 
entered  his  chest  near  the  shoulder.  He  staggered  and 
fell,  and  for  an  instant  he  alone  was  heeded.  Colonel 
Clandon  caught  him,  and  laid  him  carefully  on  the 
floor,  perceiving  at  once  that,  however  badly  he  might 
be  injured,  he  was  not  killed. 

Murkin  sprang  to  the  door  and  rushed  out.  His  colo- 
nel, whose  lip  was  perfectly  livid,  but  whose  move- 
ments were  fearfully  calm,  followed  him.  The  guard 
had  raised  their  muskets  to  fire,  as  Colonel  Clandon 
reached  the  door.  He  ordered  them  not  to  do  so. 
Then,  as  he  drew  a  rather  small  single-barrelled  pistol 
from  his  pocket,  he  muttered,  —  "  No  musket-shots  : 
sure  work  for  the  fellow  this  time  !  " 

That  unerring  weapon,  —  not  the  second  in  the 
Department  of  the  Gulf,  as  General  Butler  had  once 
intimated,  but  the  first,  the  surest,  —  was  levelled  and 
fired. 

"Sergeant,"  he  ordered,  "have  the  body  removed: 
he  is  dead  :  you  will  find  him  shot  through  the  brain." 

He  then  sent  for  the  two  best  surgeons  of  the  bri- 
gade, and,  composed  and  grim,  he  returned  to  Earnest. 

As  he  reentered  the  room  Clara  looked  up  into  his 
face,  then  turned  away  with  terror.  Her  lover's  ex- 


272  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

pression,  at  that  moment,  she  never  forgot.  The 
trained  officer  bred  to  kill  ;  the  flaming  volcano  hide- 
ously self-controlled ;  the  gladiator  with  deliberate 
death  in  his  gaze,  —  had  broken  through  those  refined, 
handsome  features ;  and,  as  he  replaced  the  pistol  in 
his  pocket,  she  read  the  fate  of  the  man  who  had  ven- 
tured to  insult,  and  had  then  attempted  to  shoot,  a 
soldier's  guest  and  a  lady. 

The  look  flitted  away.  Bending  over  Earnest,  and 
looking  at  the  wound,  he  said,  "  It  is  serious,  but  not 
mortal.  He  will  live." 

Stella  and  Cora  were  reassured ;  and,  under  his  in- 
flexible, imperturbable  will,  were  quiet  and  helpful, 
like  children. 

The  surgeons  came  ;  Earnest  was  removed  to  another 
apartment ;  his  wound  was  dressed ;  and  once  more 
Stella's  soothing  and  vigilant  attentions  as  a  nurse, 
were  exerted  to  prolong  that  dear  life. 

He  recovered  very  slowly.  The  shock  had  been  too 
great  for  one  whose  constitution  was  already  shattered. 
Tedious  weeks  passed  before  he  gained  sufficient 
strength  to  walk,  or  even  to  stand.  Finally  it  was 
thought  that  he  could  return  North  with  safety ;  and,  as 
he  was  impatient  to  go,  Colonel  Clandon  secured  the 
party  every  comfort  that  could  be  afforded  them  for  the 
voyage,  and  they  started  for  New  York. 

The  passage  was  long  and  stormy,  and  when  they 
reached  that  city,  Earnest  was  obliged  to  wait  there 
several  days.  He  was  too  weak  to  continue  his  jour- 
ney immediately  to  Iron  ton. 

"  Once  in  our  snug  home,  which  you  have  arranged 
so  cosily,  my  Stella,  and  I  feel  as  though  I  should 
scarcely  leave  it  many  times  again." 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  273 

Such  was  his  first  intimation,  —  which  was  spoken 
with  a  quiet  smile,  —  that  he  looked  forward  to  what 
Stella  and  Clara  had  both  begun  to  dread,  in  spite  of 
their  hopes,  although  neither  would  own  it  to  the 
other  by  as  much  as  a  look. 

Stella  perceived  his  meaning  instantly. 

"  O  Earnest ! "  she  murmured,  and  sank  to  the 
floor. 

She  had  borne  up  with  cheerfulness,  even  humor, 
until  that  moment.  But  she  had  come  to  place  such 
implicit  reliance  on  what  her  husband  said,  that  now, 
when  he  spoke  thus  to  her,  she  felt  as  though  even  this 
matter  were  settled ;  that  she  must  give  him  up  ;  that 
before  long  he  would  die. 

Fair,  loving  young  wife,  —  it  was  well,  perhaps,  to 
prepare  her  for  the  stroke.  Yet  how  could  she  bear 
it  ?  It  seemed  as  though  her  own  life  would  ebb  im- 
mediately away,  if  his  were  taken  from  her. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

T?ARNEST  was  not  mistaken.  He  had  but  a  short 
J-^  time  to  live.  From  this  last  infliction  by  the  bul- 
let, with  the  attendant  debility,  he  never  recovered, 
although  he  lingered  several  weeks,  between  life  and 
death,  after  he  reached  home. 

To  him  it  was  not  dreadful  to  die.  In  his  early 
youth,  it  will  be  remembered,  life,  not  its  termination, 
had  appeared  terrible ;  and  more  than  once,  in  his 
doubt,  his  misanthropy,  his  antagonism  with  the 
world's  ideas  and  endeavors,  he  had  longed  to  flee  any- 
where away  from  the  hated  scene.  So  trivial,  so  selfish, 
so  mean  it  all  seemed,  that  why  should  he  stay  where 
there  was  nothing,  and  yet  worse  than  nothing,  for  one 
like  him?  Bitterly  he  had  asked  himself  the  ques- 
tion ;  then,  from  regard  to  others,  and  from  sheer 
scorn  of  all  possible  events,  he  had  still  maundered  and 
groped  along,  tempted,  but  not  quite  enticed,  by 
every  dark  rolling  stream,  until  at  last  the  sunlight 
of  truth  and  faith  broke  through  upon  his  soul,  and 
he  felt  as  jubilant  in  his  independence  of  persons 
and  circumstances,  as  he  had  felt  disconsolate  before 
their  secret  was  read  and  their  tendency  revealed. 
The  sphinx  answered,  the  riddle  solved,  the  heavens 
opened,  —  what  was  there  now  to  fear  ? 

(274) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  275 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  die  if  there  be  gods ;  it  is  sad  to 
live  if  there  be  none." 

"  True,  Marcus  Antoninus,"  Earnest  could  declare  ; 
"  and  I  have  beheld  the  gods  :  it  is  beautiful  to  live,  it 
is  beautiful  to  die.  Sad?  There  is  nothing  sad,  but 
living  to  hatred,  and  littleness,  and  folly." 

Whatever  the  sermons  teach,  the  bed  of  death  is  not" 
commonly  a  spectacle  of  terror  to  the  departing  soul. 
Sorrowful  it  may  often  be  to  leave  its  familiar  sur- 
roundings ;  unspeakably  pained  it  may  be  to  sever 
from  other  loved  souls  whom  it  could  aid  and  succor  in 
this  hard  circle  of  fleshly  phantoms,  where  none  may 
be  left  to  protect  when  it  is  withdrawn.  But  for 
itself  it  does  not  usually  tremble,  if  left  to  its  own 
thoughts,  and  to  its  God. 

Every  one  views  himself  as  no  one  else  can  regard 
him.  He  sees  where  his  ignorance  submerged  him  in 
sin,  —  where  circumstances  bore  down  upon  him  with  a 
pressure,  overwhelming  at  the  moment,  if  not  at  a 
later  moment  when  he  might  have  been  stronger  to 
resist.  He  would  do  better  now,  he  feels  ;  but  could 
not  do  better  then.  Somewhere  there  will  be  help  for 
him,  —  somewhere,  pardon.  Such  is  doubtless  the  view 
and  the  hope  of  the  very  worst :  else  would  he  crave 
dissolution,  annihilation,  the  sooner  the  better,  by  his 
own  hand.  For  the  universe  is  a  poisoned  dagger  to 
the  breaker  of  its  laws,  and  stabs  the  criminal,  of  its 
own  accord,  at  every  turn. 

Even  the  most  vile  and  wretched  often  die  with 
complacency,  with  gladness :  for  is  not  hope  literally 
their  all  ?  William  Mumford  the  gambler,  like  John 
Brown  the  religious  enthusiast,  is  hanged  perfectly 
composed. 


276  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

But  a  faith,  little  or  great  —  anything  that  is 
trusted,  —  makes  death  a  festival.  Relying  upon  it,  the 
Hindoo  will  pitch  himself  into  the  mouth  of  the  nearest 
crocodile,  and  the  Christian  will  sing  hymns  at  the 
stake  while  his  tongue  shrivels  in  his  throat,  and  the 
throat  is  crisping  into  cinders.  If  Voltaire  the  sceptic 
will  meet  death  calmly  and  courteously,  much  as  he 
would  greet  a  polite  Frenchman,  what  affright  has  it  to 
the  searching  insight  of  Socrates,  or  the  all-believing, 
all-pitying  love  of  Jesus  ? 

It  had  been  Earnest  Acton's  fortune  to  live  his  short 
but  crowded  life,  which  was  now  about  to  breathe  itself 
away,  in  a  period  when  old  forms  of  faith  had  been 
broken  up,  while  many  materialistic,  and  practically 
atheistical  minds  yet  clung  to  the  creeds  and  rituals  for 
respectability  or  greed ;  while  many  other  minds  —  the 
little  and  common  —  honestly  worshipped  in  the  old 
ways,  unquestioning  because  unthinking  ;  and  while  a 
few  other  minds,  —  active,  conscientious,  and  aspiring, 
but  without  intuitive  perception  sufficient  to  melt 
forms  and  doctrines  into  their  historical  meaning  and 
essence,  —  after  struggling  a  while  with  doubts  that 
would  arise,  looked  upon  all  matters  as  doubtful,  and 
then,  unreconciled  with  their  thoughts,  but  needing 
some  faith,  accepted  the  one  of  the  most  accessible 
evangelical  church,  and  debarred  the  intellect  from 
further  questioning. 

These  three  classes  composed  the  conventional 
religionists,  —  a  large  body,  excluding  and  misappre- 
hending the  loftiest  intelligence  and  deepest  piety  of 
the  time,  and  hesitant  to  accept  the  noblest  works ; 
but  still  helpful  to  themselves,  and  beneficent  to  the 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

country,  especially  during  the  last  two  or  three  years, 
by  magnificent  undertakings  of  patriotism,  charity, 
and  practical  Christian  mercy. 

Outside  their  circle,  beyond  it  and  above  it,  lived 
and  labored  in  America  some  of  the  mightiest  religious 
spirits  that  ever  existed  in  the  world.  They  were 
called  infidel,  yet  they  were  most  faithful ;  they  were 
.called  destroyers,  yet  they  were  constructors.  They 
were  confounded  with  the  deists  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. But  what  were  Voltaire  and  Hume  and 
Gibbon  ?  Strong  men,  it  is  true,  and  superior  in  a 
moral  as  every  other  sense  to  the  majority  of  their 
contemporaries.  But  they  were  of  this  world :  they 
lived  in  material  facts.  Seeing  the  rubbish  which 
littered  Church  and  State,  they  kicked  it  out  of  the 
way,  doing  noisy  and  disagreeable,  but  worthy  service. 

They  were  so  impatient,  however,  of  the  rubbish, 
that  they  spurned  spiritual  truths  which  it  concealed. 

They  caused  every  good  intellect  to  doubt ;  but  this 
was  all ;  they  helped  it  no  farther. 

The  nineteenth  century  completed  their  task,  thank- 
ing them  for  all  their  negative  demonstrations,  but  rec- 
onciling these  with  the  presence  of  God  in  the  human 
soul,  and  with  the  exalted  mission  of  the  Christian  Re- 
ligion. 

Through  the  thick  darkness  Germany  first  saw  the 
new  sun,  while  yet  it  has  shone  most  brightly  upon 
that  favored  granite  where  the  Pilgrim  landed  solely 
that  he  might  worship  his  God ;  and,  when  it  lighted 
Theodore  Parker  into  the  world,  it  made  even  the 
piety  of  ecclesiasticism  appear  as  inferior  as  its  mental 
capacity. 

24 


278  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

The  number  of  minds  that  had  completely  and  satis- 
factorily wrought  out  within  themselves  this  transition, 
was  comparatively  very  small.  Earnest  had  followed 
them,  had  understood  them,  was  one  of  them. 

Then  there  was  a  large  class  in  the  process  of  that 
transmutation  which  he  had  undergone.  They  were 
rationalists,  doubters,  and  sneerers,  of  all  shades  and 
degrees.  The  most  of  them  were  honest,  well-mean- 

O  ' 

ing,  and  instinctively  favorable  to  each  noble  move- 
ment for  the  freedom  and  elevation  of  mankind.  Un- 
certain of  man's  relation  to  God,  they  yet  held  to 
man's  just  relation  to  his  fellow-beings. 

Earnest  had  known  a  few  men,  like  his  father,  so 
natural  and  unconstrained  in  an  artificial  epoch,  that 
they  had  walked  along  untouched  by  dogmas  and  mys- 
tifications, believing  in  God,  believing  in  goodness,  and 
asking  no  more.  They  were  too  healthy  to  catch  the 
prevailing  theological  epidemics,  and  so  had  never  been 
troubled  with  the  affliction  or  the  cure. 

Through  such  a  period  of  spiritual  convulsion,  with 
the  changes  it  brought  upon  institutions  and  customs, 
Earnest  Acton  had  journeyed  to  an  overlooking,  inclu- 
sive faith,  and  now  the  journey  was  to  end. 

To  leave  Stella,  while  they  were  both  so  young,  and 
had  just  begun  their  glad  dependence  on  each  other,  — 
this  was  the  keenest  sorrow,  though  less  for  him  than 
for  the  dear  one  to  be  left  behind.  Heavy-hearted  she 
would  be,  heavy-eyed  and  dreary. 

But  the  world  Avould  still  be  around  her ;  and  her 
duty  would  ever  be  before  her.  If  there  would  be  few 
to  bless  her  as  he  had  done,  there  would  be  many 
whom  she  could  bless,  —  poor  souls  who  would  much 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  279 

need  that  her  kind,  chastened  heart  should  find  rest 
for  itself  in  being  busy  for  them. 

And  was  not  the  love  of  two  hearts,  each  for  the 
other,  but  a  delightful  initiatory  symbol  of  a  love  that 
both  were  to  feel  for  universal  beauty,  and  truth,  and 
goodness  ? 

Bright  vision  of  earthly  fondness  —  such  was,  after  all, 
its  enduring  splendor !  The  one  great,  happy  lover 
of  all  history — was  it  not  that  most  divine  man  of  Cal- 
vary, who  could  sweetly,  willingly  embrace  death  itself, 
in  his  love  for  the  fair,  the  true,  the  infinitely  beautiful  ? 

To  such  love  the  soul  of  man  and  woman  must  rise 
before  it  can  be  free,  before  it  can  know  the  meaning 
of  heaven.  The  end  of  life  is  to  reach  such  a  love ; 
the  beginning  of  joy  is  nothing  else  than  this. 

Upon  such  high  ground  Earnest  consoled  her  who 
was  worthy  of  such  consolation,  and  would  not  forget  it 
in  his  absence.  It  is  all  the  living  can  offer  to  the  living ! 
It  is  enough  to  offer.  It  is  all  the  dying  can  offer  to 
the  living !  Let  them  heed  it ;  for  they  too  are  in  the 
presence  of  death,  and  to  triumph  is  to  know  that  death 
is  easy  to  those  who  love  so  much  that  they  cannot  fear. 

During  one  of  the  last  days  of  Earnest's  life  ly?  was 
visited  by  a  friend,  Mr.  Welby,  a  conscientious  and 
devoted  young  clergyman  of  the  Methodist  church. 
They  had  known  each  other  several  years,  and,  though 
very  different  in  all  respects,  a  warm  personal  regard 
existed  between  them. 

*«  Well,  my  friend,"  asked  Mr.  Welby,  "  how  do  you 
feel  to-day?'" 

"  As  though  I  should  last  it  out,  and  perhaps  two  or 
three  days  after  it,"  Earnest  replied,  cheerfully ;  "  but  I 


280  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

shall  leave  you  pretty  soon.  Any  day,  almost  any 
hour,  may  take  me  now." 

The  good,  sensitive  clergyman  saw  that  here  was  the 
same  friend  he  had  so  many  times  met  in  health,  high- 
hearted, firm  and  trusting  to  the  last.  No  need  of  dis- 
cussion, —  no  place  for  it  here.  Mr.  Welby  had  felt,  at 
first,  as  if  he  ought  to  say  some  word  to  that  dying  man 
whom  he  loved,  —  some  word  even  yet  for  his  soul. 
But  that  soul  was  so  calm,  so  content,  so  ready  for  the 
coming  change,  that  he  saw  it  -rested  on  immovable 
convictions,  and  must  be  left  to  its  God  alone.  He  for- 
bore all  remarks,  therefore,  that  might  excite  Earnest, 
but,  before  leaving  him,  asked  if  he  might  pray  for  one 
who  was  very  dear  to  him,  —  one  who  was  himself 
aware  that  perhaps  they  might  never  see  each  other 
again  in  life. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Earnest ;  "  let  us 
repeat  together  the  Lord's  prayer.  You  remember  the 
old  Grecian,  Pythagoras,  taught  that  we  should  not 
plead  with  God  for  particular  favors,  because  we  are 
perpetually  ignorant  of  what  God  always  knows  to  be 
best  for  us.  We  are  to  trust  his  plans,  not  beg  for  the 
fulfilment  of  our  own.  I  have  often  felt  this  inculca- 
tion ;  and  some  prayers  I  have  heard  would  have  choked 
me  in  the  utterance.  Yet  we  constantly  aspire,  in 
our  feelings,  to  be  something  better  than  we  are  ;  and 
the  aspiration  for  good  may  surely  come  to  our  lips. 
And  thanksgiving  for  God's  bounty  and  his  goodness 
must  be  felt  and  expressed,  wherever  his  presence  is 
truly  in  the  heart.  That  beautiful  prayer  which  Jesus 
addressed  to  his  Father  in  heaven,  hallowing  his 
name ;  asking  that  the  divine  will  be  done  on  earth  ; 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  281 

that  our  simple  daily  needs  be  supplied  to  us  ;  that  our 
sins  may  be  forgiven,  and  that  we  may  forgive  the  sins 
of  others ;  that  we  may  not  be  tempted,  yet  when 
tempted  may  be  delivered  from  the  evil :  —  that  prayer 
has  long  seemed  to  me  to  include  all  that  man  may  say 
to  God,  or  ask  of  him,  —  all  that  a  trusting  soul  can 
present  to  the  Author  of  its  being  and  blessings." 

Earnest  spoke  with  fervor.  His  eye  brightened  and 
his  cheek  flushed.  The  friend  made  no  reply,  but 
knelt  at  his  bedside,  and  together  they  repeated  those 
tender,  touching,  solemn  words. 

Mr.  Wei  by  then  rose  and  took  Earnest's  hand. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said :  "  I  am  very  glad  I  came  to 
see  you.  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again." 

"  Yes,  we  shall  meet  again,"  answered  Earnest,  "  and 
where  there  are  better  gifts  than  we  know." 
•    With  strange  yet  far  from  unpleasant  feelings,  the 
clergyman  departed. 

The  next  two  days  Earnest  sank  rapidly.  The 
third  morning  the  sun  rose  bright  and  warm,  and 
though,  during  the  night,  a  January  snow-storm  had 
covered  the  ground  with  pure  white,  the  day  was 
brilliant  and  beautiful. 

When  he  had  found  himself  unable  to  leave  his 
room,  our  friend  had  requested  Stella  to  have  a  bed  put 
up  for  him  in  the  little  library,  so  that  he  might  hear 
her  play  on  her  piano,  in  the  adjoining  room.  Her 
music  was  never  more  welcome  to  him  than  now  ;  and 
besides,  he  wished  to  impress  her  as  far  as  possible  with 
his  own  realization  that  his  descent  to  the  tomb  was 
but  a  triumphal  march  beyond  it.  Could  she  only 

24* 


282    '  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

mount  the  car  with  him  !  When  he  thought  of  this, 
he  sighed,  for  the  moment,  and  longed  to  look  back. 

Stella  would  not  leave  him  night  or  day.  At  first 
she  shrank  from  her  piano,  almost  frightened  at  its 
tone  ;  but  it  was  such  a  pleasure  for  him  to  hear  it  that 
she  overcame  her  reluctance,  and  even  gleaned  some 
small  comfort  for  herself  as  she  played. 

On  this  resplendent  winter  morning,  after  a  fevered, 
restless  night,  Earnest  sank  into  a  quiet  slumber  of  an 
hour  or  two,  and  then  awoke. 

11  Stella,  my  dear,"  he  murmured,  "  will  you  play 
me,  <  Who  Treads  the  Path  of  Duty '  ?  " 

She  went  to  the  piano,  and  the  music  of  that  grand, 
impressive,  yet  joyous  song  of  Mozart's  floated  through 
the  rooms.  He  thanked  her  with  a  fond  smile,  as  she 
returned  to  him ;  and  drawing  her  face  down  to  his,  he 
kissed  her  lips  and  her  brow. 

"  Stella,  you  have  been  a  dear,  good  wife,  —  all  my 
soul  asked.  And  even  now  you  are  worthy  not  to 
despair.  Without  this  last  sweetness  and  trusting 
greatness,  I  should  not  be  quite  satisfied.  We  are  not 
dependent  on  so  poor  a  stay  as  persons  and  circum- 
stances. God  bless  you.  God  will  bless  you." 

Earnest  spoke  clearly  and  unbrokenly,  but  with  great 
effort  of  will ;  and  when  he  had  finished,  he  sank  away 
exhausted.  In  a  few  minutes  he  looked  up  once  more, 
still  with  a  smile. 

"  My  father,  —  poor  old  man,  —  love  him,  Stella, 
while  he  stays  ;  he  has  done  a  great  deal  for  me.  Let 
Charley  Merlow  have  my  cane ;  and  if  Clara  and  Cora 
would  like  any  little  keepsakes,  you  select  something 
for  each.  Give  Jerry  Kay  a  hundred  dollars." 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  '    283 

Saying  this,  Earnest  dropped  back,  on  his  pillow, 
closing  his  eyes.  Presently  his  father,  accompanied 
by  Charley  Merlow,  with  Clara  and  Cora,  entered  the 
room.  Alger  Acton  had  been  in  the  house  during 
the  night,  and  toward  morning  had  lain  down  for  a 
little  rest.  It  was  early ;  but  Charley  and  the  other 
friends  had  called  to  inquire  after  Earnest,  just  as 
Stella  left  him  for  an  instant,  to  tell  his  father  that  he 
was  dying.  They  all  followed  Stella  to  the  library 
without  a  word. 

Earnest  saw  them  as  they  stood  around  his  bed,  and 
his  eyelids  moved  with  an  expression  of  salutation. 
His  lips  parted  as  if  he  was  about  to  speak ;  but  he 
only  smiled,  and,  first  placing  his  hand  over  his  heart, 
he  raised  it  slightly,  and  pointed  upward.  He  then 
extended  it  to  Stella,  and  held  the  other  out  to  his 
father.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  still  talk  to  them,  if 
he  should  try,  but  that  he  had  no  more  to  say,  and  was 
quietly  observing  this  last  strange  transition.  He  did 
not  struggle,  and  he  appeared  to  feel  but  little  pain. 
But  in  half  an  hour,  as  the  sunlight,  which  he  would 
not  have  excluded,  fell  upon  the  spot  where  he  lay, 
his  features  had  turned  to  marble  whiteness :  they 
were  rigid  and  cold. 

Earnest  Acton  had  entered  upon  a  higher  life.  But 
there  were  sobs  and  tears ;  and  muffled  voices  mourned 
him  as  dead. 


LAST    CHAPTER. 

A  NOTHER  year  has  gone  since  Earnest  died. 
-£*-  Its  months  have  not  passed  unfraught  with 
changes  in  the  world  ;  they  have  not  passed  without 
some  changes  amidst  the  group  which  made  up  the 
attractions  and  repulsions  of  Earnest's  life. 

Let  us  glance  at  some  of  the  group. 

His  friend  Clara  Summers,  although  she  is  still 
simply  Clara  to  her  immediate  circle  of  companions, 
is  called  by  society  Mrs.  Clandon,  while  the  punctilious 
speak  of  her  as  Mrs.  General  Clandon.  Her  husband 
is  one  of  the  most  efficient  and  trusted  among  the 
younger  officers  of  the  regular  army. 

To  Charley  Merlow  and  Cora  nothing,  save  the 
absence  of  Earnest  and  the  quiet,  uncomplaining  grief 
of  Stella,  has  yet  appeared  to  dim  their  joys.  A  baby- 
boy,  Earnest  Acton  MerloAv,  has  'been  given  them  to 
love. 

It  would  be  painful,  very  painful,  for  Charley  to 
leave  his  wife  and  child ;  but  as  the  war  has  continued, 
and  he  has  felt  that  he  might  be  called  on  to  bear  his 
part  of  the  heavy  burden,  he  has  learned  something 
of  the  soldier's  duties ;  and  both  he  and  Cora  look 
forward  to  a  day  when  possibly  he  can  no  longer 

(284) 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  285 

remain  beside  her  and  regard  his  duty;  when  she 
can  no  longer  bid  him  linger  at  home.  They  look 
at  their  infant,  and  perceive  that  what  the  father 
shall  leave  undone,  the  child  must  do ;  that  peace 
cannot  bless  the  nation  till  barbarism  and  its  warriors 
are  crushed.  Shall  one  generation  fail  in  the  effort  ?  — 
then  it  will  be  for  the  next  generation  to  succeed. 
God  has  ineted  the  task  to  the  century,  and  they 
know  that  it  cannot  shirk  the  stint. 

Rufus  Maign  is  no  longer  in  business.  At  the  time 
of  Earnest's  death  the  veteran  merchant  had  nearly 
retrieved  his  fortune.  Stella  had  more  wealth  than  she 
needed ;  and  why  should  he  strive  and  labor  still  ? 
To  comfort  his  daughter  now,  and  to  aid  her  in 
benevolent  undertakings,  would  be  enough,  he  thought, 
for  a  man  over  sixty.  Father,  mother,  and  daughter 
are  again  together,  and  together  they  are  busy, — 
busy  for  many  others  than  themselves. 

Jerry  Kay,  the  strange  old  Irishman,  has  followed 
Earnest  into  a  higher  life.  On  earth  he  was  deprived 
of  advantages ;  he  was  devoid  of  culture ;  he  was 
deemed  ignorant  and  common  and  low.  He  swept 
the  streets,  and  went  on  errands  about  the  markets. 
But  the  uses  and  manners  of  that  other  world  are 
not  as  our  customs  and  distinctions.  Who  shall  tell 
what  the  old  man  is  doing?  Was  he  faithful  and 
honest  below  ?  We  may  be  sure,  then,  that  the  gods 
have  missions  for  him  now. 

And  Stella,  —  is  she  content  ?  can  she  be  happy  ? 
Not  wholly  content,  not  quite  happy,  as  you  commonly 
mean  it ;  nor  does  she  need  to  be  so.  She  is  very  calm 
and  placid,  very  sweet  and  kind.  Her  spirit  dwells  in 


286  LOVERS  AND  THINKERS. 

a  high,  pure  atmosphere,  and  though  she  has  heen  se- 
lected to  bear  much  sorrow,  she  is  not  deprived  of  all 

j°ys- 

During  those  winter  days,  after  Earnest  had  gone,  it 
seemed  doubtful  that  she  would  long  tarry  to  mourn 
him.  She  was  so  prostrated  with  anxiety  and  fatigue, 
that  only  through  a  prolonged  sickness,  she  found  re- 
newed health  and  strength.  Her  soul  was  clouded  with 
grief,  and  her  eyes  were  often  wet  with  tears.  So  much 
she  gave  to  nature,  and  could  not  help  giving.  But  she 
knew  there  was  brightness  beyond  the  clouds,  and  that 
not  even  to  her  was  life  for  weeping.  So  when  the 
sunny  spring  days  came,  she  placed  flowers  on  the 
spot  where  Earnest  seemed  to  have  been  laid  ;  then 
turning  with  a  serene  smile  and  a  generous  hand  to  the 
needy  and  the  lowly,  she  felt  that  his  spirit  descended, 
and  was  close  beside  her. 

She  does  not  complain.  She  hopes,  she  loves,  and  is 
loved  by  many.  She  has  learned  to  renounce  selfish- 
ness, that  to  unselfishness  all  things  may  be  awarded. 
She  blesses  God,  and  lives  in  the  world  to  do  his  will 
as  best  she  can,  until  it  shall  be  his  will  that  she  re- 
main no  longer.  Then  she  will  die  as  Earnest  died, 
still  with  thanksgiving  on  her  gentle  lips. 

She  sat,  a  few  evenings  since,  alone,  as  she  thought, 
in  the  twilight.  She  sang ;  and  her  fingers  flitted  once 
more  along  the  key-board  of  her  piano.  I  listened  in 
the  distance,  sacredly,  but  caught  these  words  :  — 

"  I  have  laid  my  dead  on  my  country's  altar  ! 

God  gave  me  to  moan  :  — 
To  moan  with  a  broken  wail,  to  falter, 
And  to  feel  alone,  alone  ! 


LOVERS  AND  THINKERS.  287 

"  But  that  dearest  life  —  oh,  yes,  it  was  needed ! 

God  gives  me  to  bear. 

It  was  Freedom's  call  that  was  heard  and  heeded : 
And  now  he  is  there  —  up  there ! 

"  The  great  and  good  of  the  ages  are  round  him : 

He  would  not  be  here. 

Yet  fondly  he  looks  on  the  love  that  bound  him, 
And  is  near  me,  very  near  ! 

"  Sometimes  in  my  dreams  ho  will  grandly  murmur, 

And  point  me  a  goal. 

'  Droop  not,  dear  one,'  he  says :  '  be  firmer ; 
Come  up  to  the  height  of  the  soul.' 

"  I  am  well,  O  friend  that  wast  with  me,  in  wooing 

The  heavens  with  trust. 

I  have  learned  there  is  little  of  life  but  in  doing 
One  Will :  it  is  gentle  and  just," 


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